


Sanctuary

by rusty_armour



Series: Sanctuary [6]
Category: Robin of Sherwood (TV 1984)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mystical, Robin of Sherwood: The Knights of the Apocalypse, Supernatural Elements, Swordfighting, enemies to frenemies, sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25883434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rusty_armour/pseuds/rusty_armour
Summary: Loxley and Gisburne gain a new ally as they find themselves facing the Knights of the Apocalypse again. However, they may also have to confront an even more dangerous enemy.
Series: Sanctuary [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/898572
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Melisende](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23786191) and the final story in this series. This is basically my COVID-19 fic. It’s helped keep me sane and occupied during this awful time. I’ll admit that the story is self-indulgent and somewhat over the top. I also had a bit too much fun writing it. *g* I’m sure this goes without saying, but this fic probably won’t make much sense if you haven’t read the previous stories in the [Sanctuary](https://archiveofourown.org/series/898572) series. 
> 
> **Possible Trigger Warning:** While this story does not contain rape/non-con, it does include indirect references to non-consensual sexual acts that occurred in a previous story.
> 
> As you may have noticed, this series has the same name as [Sanctuary](https://spitefulpuppet.com/product/sanctuary-paperback/), the [Spiteful Puppet](https://spitefulpuppet.com/) audio adventure and the [Chinbeard Books](https://www.chinbeardbooks.com/) novelization by Paul Birch. Well, now I’ve gone and used the same title for this story. *g* In my defence, I came up with the title for this series just before the audio adventure was released, so it was by no means intentional. I tried to come up with another title for this last story in the series, but nothing else seemed to work. For three out of four of the fic series that I’ve written, the last story has had the same title as the series – usually because I ended up naming the series after the last story. In this case, I think I always knew that the last story would be called “Sanctuary”. I was just never sure if I would get around to writing it! Anywaaaaaaay, I’ll never be competition for either Spiteful Puppet or Chinbeard Books, so posting a story with the same title as one of their properties isn’t going to cause any harm.
> 
> There’s some French spoken in this story. I’ve provided footnotes for any French that isn’t entirely clear from the context. The English translations are included in the scenes containing footnotes.
> 
> This takes place after [The Knights of the Apocalypse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_of_Sherwood:_The_Knights_Of_The_Apocalypse).
> 
> **Disclaimer** : This story is based on Richard Carpenter's series _Robin of Sherwood_. The characters are the property of Richard Carpenter, Robin May, Anthony Horowitz and the RoS production team. This is also based on “The Knights of the Apocalypse” audio adventure, which was based on an original script by Richard Carpenter, directed by Robert Young and produced by Barnaby Eaton-Jones, not to mention the novel written by Jonathan Green.
> 
> The outstanding cover art for this story was created by raven714. You can find more of her beautiful RoS artwork and fanvids [here](http://raven714.livejournal.com).
> 
> * * *

Robin Hood drank deeply from the cup Herne gave him. Images began to form as he looked into the flames. At first, Robin thought he was gazing at the Preceptory of St. John, but the architecture of this building was different and it wasn’t surrounded by marshes. Robin saw fleurs-de-lis covering a banner that was then blotted out by a fiery sun shining in the night sky. Led by a man with a long scar down one cheek, a group of knights rode past with light blazing from their chests. To his surprise, Robin caught a glimpse of his predecessor, the previous Hooded Man, fighting against a group of savage cutthroats. He assumed that he was seeing into the past, but then he realized that Guy of Gisburne was fighting alongside Robin of Loxley. There were more flashes of Loxley and Gisburne working and travelling together that thoroughly baffled Robin. However, he was left feeling even more shaken when he saw a shadowy figure seated on a gold throne.

The figure wore a crown and armour that glinted in the light of two torches. He gripped a long barbed spear in one of his taloned hands. Then the figure leaned forward. To his horror, Robin recognized this creature with the amber glowing eyes and iridescent scales. It was Gisburne.

Robin started, as if waking from a nightmare. His heart was pounding and he had broken into a cold sweat.

“What does it all mean?” Robin asked, as much to himself as Herne.

Herne took the cup from Robin’s trembling hands. “A man of two lands hunts the key to the dark lord’s throne, a throne which lies under the blazing sun where the first King of France built his castle. You must protect the key, the one seeking passage into the light.”

Robin tried to ignore the throbbing in his head. “All right, I’ll gather the others and – ”

“No,” Herne said. “You must go alone.”

A blackbird was chirping, its song a pure, melodious trill. The sound should have lifted Loxley’s spirits, but this sign of spring only managed to sink him deeper into depression. The winter had been hard. Their luck had taken a turn for the worst after they left Poitou. They’d nearly been killed just outside of Nevers by a band of cutthroats. These same cutthroats had robbed them of the money that they’d acquired from the sale of de Guillevenen’s ring. Then Loxley and Gisburne had then been chased from a village in Limousin because the inhabitants thought they were cutthroats themselves. They’d struggled to find work of any kind, and such work barely lasted more than a day or two. They’d spent a fortnight in an abandoned hut with their horses. Part of the roof had been missing and had provided little protection from the cold, sharp wind and the rain, but it had been shelter, and even Gisburne hadn’t complained. They had arrived in Bourbonnais a few days ago and had set up camp in the Forest of Tronçais. Loxley might have believed that their luck would change if he hadn’t known that it was only a matter of time before they had to confront their enemies again.

Loxley had been so lost in thought that he almost missed it. He had nearly reached the camp when he sensed that something was wrong. He stopped for an instant and listened. Then, when he heard voices, he nearly dropped the waterskin that he’d gone to fill. Loxley ducked behind some bushes, and his worst fears were confirmed when he peered into the camp. Standing in the glade were at least a dozen men wearing black surcoats emblazoned with the distinctive device of a flaming sun. The Knights of the Apocalypse had finally tracked them down.

Two men were flanking Gisburne, who had been made to kneel on the ground. Loxley couldn’t be sure, but he thought the third knight standing before Gisburne was de Sancerre. Loxley had left his bow and quiver in the camp, so he couldn’t pick off any of the knights from the bushes. Even if he had his bow, he’d be risking Gisburne’s life. Loxley wouldn’t put it past de Sancerre to kill Gisburne before he could reach him. Loxley cupped his hands over his mouth and imitated the sound of an owl. At first, he wasn’t sure if Gisburne had recognized the signal or had even heard him, but then Gisburne spoke.

“He should have been back by now. He must have heard your men and decided to run.”

“What about his horse?” de Sancerre asked.

Gisburne shrugged. “He’s a thief. He’ll simply steal another.”

“But you have been together all this time, Gisburne. Why should he abandon you now?”

“He left his men back in England, and they were his _friends_. Why should he be loyal to me? I was useful to him for a time. That’s all.”

Loxley watched helplessly from the bushes. Gisburne was telling him to flee, but Loxley knew he couldn’t abandon him. Loxley thought he could draw some of the men from the camp by causing a distraction. That would help even the odds.

“It really does not matter whether Robin Hood returns or not,” de Sancerre said. “I’ll just hunt him down. I caught you easily enough.”

Loxley wondered if it would be better to stay hidden until the knights left the camp. He could get his bow and then pursue them from a distance. They would have to stop somewhere for the night. Perhaps he would be able to sneak into their camp and rescue Gisburne then.

As Loxley glanced around the glade again, his thoughts whirling, he was shocked to find a boy with dark hair staring fixedly at the bushes. As the boy’s keen blue eyes seemed to penetrate the foliage to meet his own, Loxley couldn’t help thinking that there was something familiar about him. Then one of the knights addressed the boy.

It was Bernard de Guillevenen dressed in chainmail and wearing a black surcoat with the flaming sun device. So he was a Knight of the Apocalypse. Loxley studied the boy again and realized why he seemed so familiar. With those eyes, he had to be de Guillevenen’s son. Loxley had assumed that de Guillevenen only had the daughter, but perhaps the boy had been absent the night that he and Gisburne had dined with his father. Loxley wondered why de Guillevenen had brought the boy. He knew that Knights Templar were supposed to cut all ties to their families and had thought that the Knights of the Apocalypse followed the same rule. Had the boy been allowed to accompany his father because he was a squire training to be a knight? The boy didn’t look happy. He had yet to respond to his father, only speaking when de Guillevenen shook him roughly and bent down to whisper something in his ear. De Guillevenen was smiling by the time his son had told him what he wished to know. Loxley felt his heart speed up when de Guillevenen gazed in his direction.

“C’est Robin Hood,” de Guillevenen said.

“Où?” de Sancerre asked.

An arrow flew through the trees and soared right past de Sancerre’s head, embedding itself in a tree that stood a few feet behind him.

Loxley gaped at the arrow in astonishment, wondering who it could be. Was it an enemy of the Knights of the Apocalypse? A sympathetic ally?

“Nous somme attaqués!” one of the knights cried, and another arrow sped through the air and hit him squarely in the back. Some of the knights scrambled for their shields, while other men dived to the ground.

“Défend ton territoire!” de Sancerre shouted. He grabbed Gisburne and hauled him to his feet, pressing his sword to Gisburne’s chest. “Surrender or I kill him, Robin Hood!”

De Sancerre had barely finished speaking when he found an arrow sticking in his right arm. His sword fell from his hand, and Gisburne quickly plucked it from the ground.

“Guy, get down!” Loxley called out from the bushes. He still wasn’t entirely sure if they were dealing with a friend or foe, or if their saviour was really as good an archer as he appeared to be. Gisburne did as Loxley suggested, though he kept a tight grip on de Sancerre’s sword. Then a voice filtered into the camp from somewhere in the trees.

“You’re in no position to negotiate,” the voice said. “Leave now or the next arrow might pierce your heart – if you have one.”

De Sancerre was gritting his teeth as he clutched his wounded arm, and Loxley thought it might be due to frustration more than pain. “Who are you?” de Sancerre asked. “You are not Robin Hood. I have heard him speak before, and the voice is not the same.”

“The name’s Little John,” the voice answered. “I’m one of Robin Hood’s men.”

Loxley’s forehead creased. That voice most certainly did not belong to John or any of his other friends, though the accent was English. He looked at Gisburne, who had lifted his head and was staring up into the trees with wide eyes. However, the expression on his face was one of recognition, not surprise. _Who the hell is it?_

“Well, what’s it going to be?” the voice asked. “Should I empty all of the arrows from my quiver or would you and your men prefer to live?”

De Sancerre bowed his head, furious but resigned. “All right, outlaw, I accept your terms. We will leave now, but this does not end here.”

“Nothing’s forgotten,” the voice said, and Loxley felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

De Sancerre didn’t have to issue orders to the other knights. They were already mounting their horses. Loxley waited until de Sancerre and his men had left before he rose from the undergrowth and entered the camp. Gisburne was back on his feet, but he was still wielding de Sancerre’s sword.

Loxley put a hand on Gisburne’s shoulder and was taken aback when he jumped. “Are you all right?”

Gisburne nodded absently, still gazing up at the trees. Then a man with a hood was walking into the camp, and Gisburne was raising his sword.

“Why are you here?” Gisburne’s voice was cold, hard and completely devoid of any appreciation or gratitude.

“Guy, the man just rescued you,” Loxley said.

Gisburne was shaking his head. “He shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?” Loxley asked. “Who is he?”

The stranger pulled back the hood to reveal a young man with long, golden hair and mischievous but intelligent blue eyes. Loxley scrutinized the man, trying to work out his identity before it hit him: it was his successor, Herne’s son.

“Robert of Huntingdon,” the man said, holding out his hand to Loxley. He then found de Sancerre’s sword at his throat.

Loxley’s focus remained on Huntingdon. “Lower your sword, Gisburne.” When Gisburne didn’t comply, Loxley met his eyes with a steely look of his own. “Now.”

Gisburne wavered for a moment. Then he tossed the sword on the ground and stomped out of the camp.

“That was surprisingly tactful for Gisburne,” Huntingdon said, looking amused.

Loxley found he couldn’t share Huntingdon’s mood. “A lot has happened since you saw him last. Why _are_ you here?”

“I could ask you the same question. You’re supposed to be dead.”

Loxley rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a long story.”

“I left Sherwood, my friends and England to be here, so I think I’m entitled to an explanation.” Huntingdon sat down on a rock by the fire pit and gazed at Loxley expectantly.

Loxley sighed and sat down beside Huntingdon. “You’re our guest. I think you should tell your story first.”

“Very well,” Huntingdon said. “I had a vision.” He began to describe what he’d seen when he’d been in Herne’s cave, including those glimpses of Loxley and Gisburne.

Loxley had picked up a stick and was trailing it through the dirt. “I’m amazed you were able to find us. I can understand how the vision of the fleurs-de-lis and Herne’s riddle would lead you to France, but how – ”

“I had a lot of time to think on the journey. Herne said that I needed to travel to the place where the first King of France built his castle. I realized that the present king, King Philip, was the first monarch to declare himself the King of France and that he built his castle in Rouen.”

“Where the Knights of the Apocalypse happen to have their preceptory.” Loxley raised his head, meeting Huntingdon’s eyes. “You followed the knights here from Rouen.”

“I was watching the preceptory,” Huntingdon said. “When I saw the knight that I recognized from my vision – the one with the scar on his cheek – I was sure he would lead me to you.”

“De Sancerre,” Loxley muttered. “He’s been hunting us for months. I wonder how he found us.”

“I was wondering the same thing. How was he able to locate your camp in such a huge forest or know that he should travel here in the first place?”

Loxley froze, the stick still in his hand. He thought of de Guillevenen’s son, his eyes fixed on the bushes, but then he dismissed the idea. The boy had simply felt someone watching him.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about how de Sancerre found you,” Huntingdon said. “You’ve got a much bigger problem.”

“What do you mean?” Loxley asked.

“Gisburne.”

Loxley dropped the stick. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand, but – ”

Huntingdon raised a hand. “I haven’t told you everything that I saw in my vision. A man hidden by shadows, wearing a crown and armour, was sitting on a gold throne. I thought it was the demon, Baphomet, but then I saw the man’s face – ”

“And it was Gisburne,” Loxley said.

Huntingdon’s eyes widened. “You had the same vision?”

“It was a dream – a nightmare – but, yes, I saw the same thing.” Loxley ran a hand across his forehead. “It doesn’t mean what you think it means. It’s a warning that he’s in danger. That’s all.”

Huntingdon looked far from convinced. “He was one of them. He was a Knight of the Apocalypse. We fought against him in the battle at the Preceptory of St. John.”

“And he was punished for what he did,” Loxley said. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Huntingdon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“As I said earlier, a lot has happened since you saw him last. Baphomet did things, unspeakable things, and he used my body to do them.” Loxley realized that his hands were trembling and he had to cross his arms to hide them.

Huntingdon laid a hand on Loxley’s shoulder. “Baphomet resurrected you just to hurt Gisburne?”

Loxley nodded, unable to speak.

Huntingdon’s hand was still on Loxley’s shoulder. “Baphomet hurt him that badly?”

Loxley cleared his throat, almost wincing at how rough his voice sounded when he spoke. “Gisburne had to put himself back together again, but he was trying to use the old pieces and they just didn’t fit anymore. He’s had to find new pieces.”

“Is that why you came to France?” Huntingdon asked.

“No,” Loxley said. “We came to France to bury Baphomet. Herne appointed the task to Gisburne, not that he had much choice. It had to be Gisburne because he was in Baphomet’s power. Only Gisburne would know the right place, a place where he no longer felt fear. He had a bit of help, but he found it in the end.”

Huntingdon’s eyebrows rose. “ _He’s_ the key?”

Loxley gazed at Huntingdon in confusion. “What?”

Huntingdon smiled sheepishly. “Never mind. Was Baphomet finally destroyed?”

Loxley shook his head. “No, not destroyed. Contained.”

“But if the Knights of the Apocalypse were ever to capture you or Gisburne – ”

“It’s the statue de Sancerre wants, even though we’ve told him that we don’t have it,” Loxley said. “He doesn’t know that Baphomet was released from it.”

Huntingdon’s hand dropped from Loxley’s shoulder. “But what if someone _does_ know? If they got a hold of either of you...”

Loxley laughed, though it was a purely bitter sound. “Why do you think we keep running?”

“Did you tell Gisburne about the nightmare?” Huntingdon asked.

“No,” Loxley said. “What purpose would that serve?”

“Well, he might be more vigilant for one thing!”

“He’s already vigilant. We both are.”

“And yet you left the camp without your bow,” Huntingdon said.

“Yes, you’re right and Gisburne could have been killed because of it.” Loxley stood, relieved that his hands had stopped shaking. Huntingdon rose to his feet as well. “Are you here to help us, or did you just come to lecture me?” Loxley asked.

“I’m here to help you,” Huntingdon said.

Loxley studied Huntingdon, trying to read his expression. “What about Gisburne? He’s your enemy.”

“Yes, I know.” Huntingdon sounded weary, almost resigned. It was as if he regretted the situation but couldn’t explain the reason why. “I’m willing to make a truce with Gisburne – if he’ll accept it.”

“That could be difficult,” Loxley said. “I doubt he’ll make it easy for you.”

Huntingdon grimaced. “Oh, I know he won’t.”

“Do the others know?” Loxley asked. They had left the camp and were travelling along a trail strewn with fallen leaves and wildflowers in search of Gisburne.

Huntingdon paused for an instant, gazing up into the trees. “No, I...I didn’t know what to tell them. It was hard enough getting them to stay behind in the first place. I knew that if I told them about you, they would insist on coming with me.”

“No one can know,” Loxley said.

“That you’re in France?”

“That I’m alive.”

Huntingdon turned startled eyes to Loxley. “But Marion, Much, all of our friends...”

Loxley shook his head. “That time has passed.”

“They deserve to know,” Huntingdon said. “You were their leader, their friend. Much was your brother...Marion was your wife!”

“They have you now. They don’t need me.”

“And Marion? Do you care nothing for her? Don’t you think that she deserves to know that her husband’s still alive?”

“No, I died that day on the tor. As far as Marion or anyone else is concerned, I’m still dead. I can’t go back to Sherwood. There’s no place for me anymore. Everyone has moved on and my return would only cause harm.” Loxley tried to continue on his way, but Huntingdon stepped in his path.

“Is it because of me?” Huntingdon asked. “Is that why you won’t go back? I can leave Sherwood, and you can take up your rightful place again.”

“Herne chose you to be his son, Robin. It’s your rightful place now.”

Huntingdon winced as if he found Loxley’s words painful. “‘Robin’,” he said. “That’s your name more than mine.”

“Call me ‘Loxley’. It will be less confusing.” Loxley smiled and they began walking again. “Are you a good leader?”

“I think so,” Huntingdon said. “I try my best.”

“Is everyone still with you? Marion, Much, John, Will, Tuck and Nasir?”

“Yes, though it wasn’t easy convincing everyone to follow me after you...after you were gone.”

Loxley stepped over a fallen branch. “Did Will ever leave you?” he asked.

Huntingdon looked surprised. “No. Why?”

“Well, he left the band once when I was leader. If you’ve managed to get Will Scarlet to stay, you must be doing something right.”

They walked without speaking for a time, with only the sound of birdsong and animal chatter reaching their ears. Then Huntingdon stopped a moment as if seeing or hearing something Loxley couldn’t. He inclined his head to the right, and Loxley followed him off the trail.

“So, do you plan to spend the rest of your life travelling around France with Gisburne?” Huntingdon asked.

“He’s my responsibility,” Loxley said. “He needed my help and I gave it to him.”

Huntingdon seemed sceptical. “And he just accepted your help?”

Loxley smiled again. “I didn’t really give him much choice.”

“But you’re friends now,” Huntingdon said. It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t know if we could be called friends. We’re no longer enemies, and I suppose we’ve formed an alliance of sorts.”

“He seems to trust you.”

“I hope so. I think I’m going to need that trust more than ever now, don’t you?” They had entered a clearing, and Loxley nodded his head towards a tall, majestic oak on the far side. Gisburne was sitting against it, eyes closed, apparently asleep. It was only when they were about ten feet away that the eyes opened and Gisburne quickly rose to his feet.

“We need to talk,” Loxley said.

“No, we don’t. I’ll just fetch my horse and then you’ll be rid of me.” Gisburne tried to move past them, but Loxley grabbed his arm.

“You’re not going anywhere and neither am I. I told you that I couldn’t go back, remember?”

Gisburne stared at Loxley, confused. “Then why is that wolfshead here?”

“I’m here to help you,” Huntingdon said.

Gisburne snorted. “Loxley, you mean.”

“No, both of you.”

Gisburne’s eyes returned to Loxley again. “You don’t need me.” He tried to pull his arm free, but Loxley wouldn’t let go.

“What happens if you go off on your own, and de Sancerre captures you?” Loxley asked. “How long would you be able to withstand torture before you were forced to talk?”

Gisburne scowled. “Oh, so it’s like that, is it? You want me here because you don’t trust me.”

“I _do_ trust you,” Loxley said.

“Then you want to keep me here because you think I need protecting. I think that might actually be worse.” Gisburne finally wrenched his arm free, only to find Huntingdon standing in front of him.

“I had a vision and I knew I had to find you,” Huntingdon said.

Gisburne glanced at Loxley, forgetting his anger. “Is this the same vision you had that first night in Aubusson when we were staying in that abandoned hut?”

Loxley shot Gisburne a startled look. “How did you – ”

“You had a bad dream that first night. You’ve been different since then, sullen and silent.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Loxley asked.

Gisburne shrugged. “I assumed you would tell me if it was important. Was it about de Sancerre and the Knights of the Apocalypse? Did you know they would come here?”

“I think you’d better tell him,” Huntingdon said. His voice was quiet but firm.

Loxley sighed. “Yes, I suppose I’d better.”

“Tell me what?” Gisburne asked.

“We both saw a man on a throne, wearing a crown and armour,” Loxley said. “It was Baphomet, but he had your face. He had become you or, rather – ”

Gisburne blanched and looked like he might faint. Loxley and Huntingdon each took an arm and set Gisburne down at the foot of the oak. Loxley knelt beside Gisburne, who was staring straight ahead of him. Loxley didn’t think he was seeing the clearing.

“Guy...”

“You have to kill me, Loxley,” Gisburne said. “I-I can’t...” He put his head in his hands.

Loxley put a hand on Gisburne’s shoulder. “No.”

Gisburne was still cradling his head. “You know what he did to me.”

“If I kill you, Baphomet wins. We defeated him once. We can do it again.” Loxley looked up at Huntingdon, who was eyeing Gisburne in shock. “We should move camp before de Sancerre returns. This clearing is as good a place as any. His eyes returned to Gisburne. “Could you keep watch while we’re gone?”

Gisburne lifted his head from his hands and nodded.

Loxley patted Gisburne on the back. “We won’t be long.”

Huntingdon glanced back at Gisburne as they headed for the trail. “Is he going to be all right?”

“He just needs time,” Loxley said.

“He asked you to kill him.”

Loxley studied the path in front of him. “It wasn’t the first time.”

Huntingdon halted in his tracks. “What did Baphomet _do_ to him?”

Loxley glared at Huntingdon. “It’s not my story to tell, and I don’t want you asking Gisburne about it.”

Huntingdon began moving again. “You should have stayed with him. I don’t think we should leave him alone right now.”

Loxley rolled his eyes. “He won’t kill himself. He believes it’s a sin against God.”

“If he’s desperate enough, he might not care,” Huntingdon said.

They reached the trail and made their way back to the old camp. Loxley wondered if there was much point in moving camp at all if de Sancerre was able to find them so easily. He suspected that Huntingdon was having similar thoughts. “We’ll only stay the one night and then leave in the morning.”

“Where will we go?” Huntingdon asked.

“I don’t know,” Loxley said. “I think we’re safest in the forest for the time being. We know the forest better than they do, even if it isn’t Sherwood. It gives us the advantage.”

There was no sign of Gisburne when they returned to the new camp. At first, Loxley feared that Huntingdon had been right, and Gisburne had decided to take his own life, but then Gisburne walked into the clearing, carrying an armful of kindling. He must have seen the expression on both their faces because he hesitated a moment before dumping the kindling on the ground. Then he took his horse from Huntingdon, as if he believed that Huntingdon might have mistreated the animal somehow.

Loxley and Huntingdon stood there watching Gisburne check the horse’s eyes, coat and legs. When Gisburne had finished inspecting his horse, Huntingdon stepped forward and held out a sword to Gisburne, hilt first. Gisburne stared at the weapon, and Loxley couldn’t help remembering that meeting in Sherwood when he and Gisburne had formed their alliance.

“It’s de Sancerre’s sword, not mine,” Gisburne said. “They took my sword when they captured me.”

Huntingdon continued to proffer the sword. “Then you’ll need a new one.”

Gisburne now stared at Huntingdon instead of the sword. “What do you want, Wolfshead?”

“A truce,” Huntingdon said. Then he saw the look on Gisburne’s face. “A temporary truce. We have a common enemy: the Knights of the Apocalypse.”

Gisburne was studying Huntingdon suspiciously. “Why should that matter to you? They’re not even in England anymore or a threat to the people you’ve sworn to protect.”

“Maybe not now, but they could be if they succeed in freeing Baphomet.”

Gisburne’s eyes flew to Loxley. “What did you tell him?”

Only what he needed to know,” Loxley said. “We could use his help. You know we could. We need all the help we can get.”

Gisburne’s gaze returned to the sword. He wasn’t happy but he took it from Huntingdon. “Do as you wish, Loxley. I can’t stop you.”

“Then we have a truce?” Huntingdon asked.

Gisburne rolled his eyes. “I accepted the sword, didn’t I? Yes, we have a truce. A _temporary_ truce.” He glanced at Loxley. “So what happens now? I’m not shaking his hand if that’s what you think.”

Loxley bit his lip, managing not to laugh. “Now we come up with a plan.”

“You need to stop running,” Huntingdon said.

They were gathered around the fire eating the buzzard that Loxley had shot down with his bow. It was a scrawny bird, but it was more than any of them had eaten for hours.

Loxley took a sip from the waterskin and passed it to Gisburne. “If we stop running, de Sancerre captures us.”

“We’re in a forest as big as Sherwood,” Huntingdon said. “We can lay traps, ambush them.”

“And how long do you think it will be before de Sancerre sends for reinforcements?” Gisburne asked. “There may be fewer knights since the battle at the Preceptory of St. John, but they have powerful allies.”

“De Sancerre won’t stop hunting us until he gets the statue,” Loxley said.

Huntingdon paused as he lifted a piece of meat to his lips. “Then maybe we should give it to him.”

Gisburne laughed and then realized that Huntingdon wasn’t joking. “Are you serious?”

“If we could find the statue and return it to the Knights of the Apocalypse, de Sancerre would have no reason to hunt you,” Huntingdon said.

“But it could be anywhere!” Gisburne cried. “England, France...How would we even begin to track it down?”

Loxley stared thoughtfully into the flames of the fire. “Someone must have taken it. It couldn’t have just vanished into thin air.”

“It must have been one of the knights who survived the battle,” Huntingdon said.

Gisburne was shaking his head. “No, none of them survived. Everyone in the preceptory was dead.”

“Are you sure there were no survivors?” Huntingdon asked. “No one who might have fled during the battle?”

“You were there,” Gisburne said. “It was chaos, confusion. I didn’t know what was happening around me. I only remember the aftermath of the battle: everyone was dead or dying.”

Loxley stoked the fire. “If someone did steal the statue, what was done with it? If it was sold to anyone, it wasn’t the Knights of the Apocalypse.”

“It would probably be worth more if it was stripped of its jewels and the gold was melted down,” Huntingdon said. “It would also be much easier to sell.”

“And there would be no hope of retrieving it,” Gisburne muttered.

Huntingdon smiled. “Perhaps not all of it, but anything we did find might prove your innocence in de Sancerre’s eyes.”

Loxley knew there was another explanation for why the statue might have been taken: to use as a vessel to contain Baphomet. That was the reason why it had been created in the first place after all. “Let’s focus on the present,” Loxley said. “De Sancerre will return, and we need to be ready for him. Do you think he’s likely to attack tonight?” he asked Gisburne.

“It’s what I’d do,” Gisburne said.

Loxley rose to his feet. “Then we’d better see about defending the camp.”

That night, they each took turns keeping watch, but de Sancerre didn’t attack the camp. However, this didn’t mean that the night was uneventful. During Gisburne’s watch, Loxley and Huntingdon were woken by the high-pitched squeal of a horse and a startled shout.

“Fury!”

Both Loxley and Huntingdon were on their feet in an instant and running across the camp.

Gisburne was waving his fingers and glaring at his horse. He turned to Loxley. “He bit me! He never bites me!”

Loxley studied Gisburne in concern. It looked as though he’d been about to saddle his horse. Fury’s ears were pulled back and his tail was swishing. It was as if the horse didn’t trust or even know his master. “Gisburne, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be keeping watch.”

“I...” Gisburne looked around as if suddenly realizing that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

“You don’t know, do you?” Loxley asked.

“He could have been sleepwalking,” Huntingdon said.

Gisburne glanced at Huntingdon, blushing. “Yes, I must have been. I-I apologize. I should never have fallen asleep. I’ll go back on watch.”

Loxley stared after Gisburne, surprised by the apology and the reason behind it. As far as he knew, Gisburne had never fallen asleep before when he’d been on watch. Loxley thought that on this night, of all nights, Gisburne would have been sure to stay awake.

“Does it seem likely that Gisburne would fall asleep when he knew de Sancerre might attack the camp?” Loxley asked.

Huntingdon shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time one of us fell asleep on watch.”

“Well, I’ve been travelling with Gisburne for months, and he doesn’t walk in his sleep,” Loxley said.

“Can you be sure of that?” Huntingdon asked.

Loxley snorted. “I’m usually awake when he’s asleep, so I think I would have noticed.”

“Do you think he decided to leave after all?”

“No, his confusion seemed genuine,” Loxley said. “I think he was just as surprised as we were.”

“Then what do you think happened?”

Loxley knew it would sound mad, but he couldn’t come up with any other explanation. “I think he might have been bewitched.”

“Bewitched?” Huntingdon cried.

“Did you see his horse? Fury’s ears were pinned back and he was jerking his tail. I think Fury would ride through fire if Gisburne asked it of him, but just now he acted as if Gisburne was a complete stranger. That horse knew something was wrong.”

“But why would someone bewitch Gisburne?” Huntingdon asked.

“I don’t know, but I think we’d better keep a close watch on him,” Loxley said.

Unbeknownst to Gisburne, Loxley and Huntingdon divided the rest of his watch between them, monitoring both Gisburne and the camp. When Loxley woke, he found that the fire had been lit and Huntingdon was sitting before it.

“Gisburne’s gone fishing,” Huntingdon said. “ _Can_ Gisburne fish or do you think this is part of the enchantment?”

Loxley smothered a yawn. “He can fish. He’s learned how to do quite a few things, and there are plenty of fish in the pond. I’m sure even Gisburne will manage to catch something.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Huntingdon murmured. Then, raising his voice, he said, “I’ve been thinking about what happened last night. It was as if Gisburne was being summoned or commanded to go somewhere. What other reason would he have for trying to saddle his horse?”

Loxley rubbed his face wearily. “None that I can think of.”

“If Gisburne tries to ride off again tonight, I think we should let him,” Huntingdon said.

_“What?”_

“If we could see where he goes, we might discover who bewitched him.”

Loxley bit his lip, staring pensively into the fire. He had been bewitched once himself and had been helpless to fight against it. If it hadn’t been for his friends, he might still be in Lilith’s power, though it seemed more likely that she would have killed him once he had outlived his usefulness. “We should tell Gisburne what happened.”

Huntingdon shook his head. “He might fight the spell, and we wouldn’t learn anything.”

“He has a right to know.”

“I agree,” Huntingdon said. “Once we know who’s behind this.”

Loxley flicked a branch into the fire. “We know who’s behind this: someone who wishes to release Baphomet from his tomb.”

Huntingdon glanced at Loxley in surprise. “We can’t be sure of that.”

“Can’t we?” Loxley asked. All of this had started because of Baphomet, and Loxley suspected that it would end with Baphomet too.

“If I were going to free Baphomet, I’d want some way to control him,” Huntingdon said.

“You would want a box protected by enchantments, such as the one Herne used.”

“Or a statue.” A smile spread across Huntingdon’s face. “Whoever tried to bewitch Gisburne might have the statue.”

After breakfast, they went in search of a new place to set up camp. They chose a location atop a hill, which allowed them to better defend themselves as they could view their surroundings more easily. Pale violet buds had sprouted and the hill would soon be covered in a profusion of bluebells. Loxley assumed that they would have left their latest camp by then.

The hours seemed to drag, the day passing at an unbearably slow pace. Gisburne was even more irritable than usual. He had been silent and surly for the most part, though he snapped at Huntingdon almost every time he did open his mouth. Loxley wondered if Gisburne was still embarrassed about the sleepwalking incident from the night before, not to mention that moment of weakness when he’d heard about their visions. A man didn’t like to appear vulnerable, especially in front of his enemies – and Huntingdon was Gisburne’s enemy, despite their temporary alliance. Perhaps Huntingdon understood this because he’d handled Gisburne’s behaviour with a surprising degree of patience, which only seemed to infuriate Gisburne more.

That night, as Gisburne slept, Loxley and Huntingdon packed up everything and saddled the horses. Then, after Gisburne had gone on watch, they lay silently in their blankets, waiting. Barely an hour had passed when Loxley saw Gisburne leave his post and head towards his horse. Loxley leapt up and ran to Fury in the hope of calming the horse before Gisburne approached. Fortunately, Fury had become accustomed to Loxley’s presence over time, so he only nickered softly as Loxley rubbed his neck.

Huntingdon was standing by the other two horses, watching Gisburne closely, but Gisburne barely seemed to notice either one of them.

“Look at his eyes,” Huntingdon whispered.

Loxley looked at Gisburne and saw that his eyes were glazed, his expression lifeless. Loxley had been subjected to Gisburne’s cold, emotionless stares before, but this was worse. Now Gisburne moved as though he were a puppet controlled by strings, though his movements weren’t awkward or clumsy. Gisburne just moved differently than he usually did. As Gisburne stood before his horse, Loxley saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Gisburne was searching for saddlery that wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

“It’s all right, Guy,” Loxley said. “Your horse is already saddled.”

Placing his foot in the stirrup, Gisburne swung up on his horse as calmly as if it were daylight and he had decided to go riding to get a little exercise. Fury tossed his head a couple of times but gave no other sign of protest. As Gisburne urged on his horse, Loxley and Huntingdon quickly mounted their own horses and followed Gisburne out of the camp.

The forest was in almost complete darkness, the trees blotting out most of the moonlight, but Gisburne rode over the narrow path leading to the road as if sunlight was streaming through the trees instead. Despite all the years that they’d spent in Sherwood, Loxley was sure that both he and Huntingdon would have been hopelessly lost if they hadn’t been following Gisburne. Most of the Forest of Tronçais was unfamiliar to them and they were still learning its secrets.

As Gisburne kept riding throughout the night and into day, Loxley wondered if he was ever going to stop. The horses would need to be fed and watered soon. Huntingdon appeared to be thinking the same thing because he said, “Gisburne is going to exhaust both himself and his horse. He can’t ride forever and neither can we.”

“You’re the one who said we shouldn’t interfere with the spell because you wanted to know where he’d go.”

Huntingdon grimaced, gazing at Gisburne’s back. “You don’t have to tell me where you buried the box, but – ”

“We buried the box in Normandy, near Avranches,” Loxley said.

“But it would take him over a week to reach Avranches!” Huntingdon’s hand tightened on the reins. “If he doesn’t stop soon, we’ll have to break the spell.”

“And if we can’t?” Loxley asked.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to knock him out,” Huntingdon said.

They had reached a glade when Gisburne reined in his horse and paused as though listening for something. Then Loxley heard it too: the sound of several hooves thundering towards them.

Not now, Loxley thought. Why does it have to be now?

Loxley glanced at Huntingdon and saw by his grim expression that he’d also heard the knights. They rode up to Gisburne and drew their horses alongside his. Loxley reached for his bow, knowing that this was his most effective weapon. From the corner of his eye, he could see Huntingdon taking an arrow from his quiver. Gisburne had drawn his sword from its scabbard and appeared to be waiting. At least Gisburne wasn’t so deeply enchanted as not to recognize the sound of hoofbeats or understand their significance.

Loxley had just notched an arrow when he thought he heard hoofbeats approaching them from the rear. His head swivelled around as he tried to locate the sound.

“Where are they coming from?” Huntingdon asked. He was looking to his left as well as over his shoulder.

When the knights rode into the glade, Loxley felt his breath catch in his throat. There had to be more than twice as many men as there had been when de Sancerre had attacked their camp. The knights seemed to be entering the glade from all directions, materializing from the surrounding trees as if they’d always been there. No wonder neither he nor Huntingdon had been able to pinpoint where they’d been coming from.

“It’s a trap,” Huntingdon said, “and whoever bewitched Gisburne has led us straight into it.”

Loxley only had mere moments to assess the situation and think of a strategy. “I’ll cover the rear if you’ll cover the men attacking from the front.”

“And we’ll split the rest of the men between us,” Huntingdon said. “What do we do about Gisburne?”

Before Loxley could reply, Gisburne was riding out to meet a group of knights who were charging towards them.

Loxley was forced to take his eyes off Gisburne as he could hear the pounding of hooves directly behind him. He wheeled his horse around, aimed his bow, and released an arrow into one knight’s chest. Quickly pulling another arrow from his quiver, Loxley notched his bow string and brought a second knight down. A third knight managed to ride past Loxley, but Loxley wheeled his horse around again and planted an arrow in his back. Then an arrow was whizzing past his face and into a knight who had tried to attack him from the right. Loxley gave a grateful nod to Huntingdon, who smiled in return.

Loxley was turning his horse back around when he caught sight of Gisburne fending off two knights. Loxley was about to ride forward to help Gisburne, but then he froze when he noticed the speed at which Gisburne swung his sword and parried the blows of the other knights. It seemed almost inhuman. Not even Nasir moved that quickly.

“Loxley!” Huntingdon cried.

Loxley twisted his body to the left and shot one of the four men who were surrounding Huntingdon. Forgetting Gisburne for the time being, he rode to Huntingdon’s aid. It wasn’t until he and Huntingdon had wounded two of the knights and killed a third that they were able to turn their attention to Gisburne.

The first thing Loxley noticed was the bodies of six men. Four of the bodies were strewn on the ground, while one knight hadn’t been completely unhorsed as he still had one foot in the stirrups. The last knight was still in the saddle, slumped across his horse’s neck. Now Gisburne was no longer on horseback and was surrounded by three knights. Huntingdon was about to ride into the fray, but Loxley reached for his arm to hold him back.

“He’ll be killed,” Huntingdon said.

Loxley jerked his chin at the bodies littering the ground. “I don’t think he needs our help.”

In a motion that was almost too quick to see, Gisburne plunged his sword into one knight before spinning around to parry a sword thrust from the second knight. The third knight tried to sneak up on Gisburne, but Gisburne ducked and then rolled out of the way before the knight’s sword swung down. Then Gisburne was back on his feet and lunging at both knights. He was so fast that Loxley wasn’t sure if the men even saw their deaths coming.

Loxley glanced at Huntingdon, who was gaping at Gisburne as if he’d never seen him before.

“That isn’t Gisburne,” Huntingdon said. “He doesn’t fight like that. He’s good but he’s not that good.”

“I know.” Loxley tore his eyes away from Huntingdon and watched Gisburne dispatch three more men.

Gisburne was like something out of a nightmare. He was covered in blood. It stained his face, hands and clothing and even dripped from his sword. The remaining knights made no attempt to attack him. They only stared at Gisburne in wide-eyed horror as if Gisburne was the devil himself. There was only one knight who didn’t seem afraid or even surprised by Gisburne’s actions or appearance: Bernard de Guillevenen. He only regarded Gisburne for an instant before turning his horse and riding away. This action must have been enough to calm the other knights because they managed to break their stares and follow de Guillevenen out of the clearing.

“De Guillevenen! Reviens ici, lâches!” 1 De Sancerre was galloping into the glade, his right arm supported by a sling. He dismounted as soon as he saw Gisburne and strode towards him, drawing his sword. Then he must have got a good look at Gisburne and all the bodies piled around him because he stopped and made no attempt to move any closer.

* * *

1 _Come back here, you cowards!_

* * *

“If you wish to live, I suggest you withdraw,” Loxley said.

De Sancerre nodded, seemingly incapable of speech.

“Back away slowly and get on your horse.”

De Sancerre began to move away, his eyes never leaving Gisburne’s face. However, he had only taken a few steps when Gisburne raised his sword and started to advance towards him, like a cat hunting a mouse. Loxley didn’t know if it was instinct that had him urging on his horse, but for some reason he knew it would be better if de Sancerre wasn’t killed.

Loxley arrived just in time to block Gisburne’s sword, though he almost hit de Sancerre with his horse. As it was, de Sancerre was knocked off balance and lying flat on the ground. Then he was rolling out of the path of the horse’s hooves. Unfortunately, this momentary distraction allowed Gisburne to take Loxley by surprise. As Gisburne attacked again, Loxley only just had time to parry the blow, which sent his sword flying from his hand. Loxley yanked his feet from the stirrups and leapt off the horse. Unable to reach his sword, he tried to reason with Gisburne.

“Guy, it’s me, Loxley. The knights are gone, so you can continue on your journey.”

Gisburne only gazed back at him impassively, his eyes glassy and dull. As Gisburne lifted his sword, Loxley heard the sound of hoofbeats coming towards them. He ducked when Gisburne swung, diving to the ground. Then Gisburne was lying on the ground beside him, unconscious. Huntingdon leaned down from his horse and extended a hand to Loxley, pulling him to his feet.

De Sancerre glared down at Gisburne in disgust. “You should have killed him.”

“No,” Huntingdon said.

“He is bewitched!”

“All the more reason not to kill him.” Huntingdon dismounted his horse and knelt down beside Gisburne. He yanked his belt free and used it to bind Gisburne’s hands behind his back.

De Sancerre gestured towards Loxley with his right hand. “He tried to kill your leader!”

Huntingdon glanced down at Gisburne as he tightened the belt. “Well, they were enemies.”

Loxley was beginning to wish he hadn’t rescued de Sancerre. “We want to know who bewitched Gisburne. Was it you?”

De Sancerre shot Loxley a venomous look. “What do you take me for? I am a Christian.”

“Belonging to an order of knights that worships a demon,” Huntingdon said.

De Sancerre squirmed slightly, clearly uncomfortable. “Baphomet is just a symbol. We do not truly worship him.”

“You could have fooled me,” Huntingdon muttered, rising from the ground.

De Sancerre massaged the bridge of his nose as if a headache was starting to form. “It must be the boy. He is a démoniste...a warlock or sorcerer in your language, I believe.”

“You mean the boy who’s travelling with you?” Loxley asked. “De Guillevenen’s son?”

Huntingdon’s brow creased. “De Guillevenen brought along his son? I thought the Knights of the Apocalypse were like the Templars and had to sever family connections.”

De Sancerre scowled. “De Guillevenen insisted on bringing the boy with him.”

Loxley observed the blush on de Sancerre’s cheeks. “And de Guillevenen has more power than you?”

“De Guillevenen is being considered for the office of Grand Master.”

Loxley’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t think he was so well-positioned in the order.”

“He has influential friends.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that having a sorcerer as a son would make him very popular,” Huntingdon said.

De Sancerre snorted. “It is a secret he guards closely.”

“But you discovered his secret,” Loxley said.

De Sancerre rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought Benoît was strange the moment I met him. There is something about him that is not right. He had a look in his eyes...I have heard him muttering spells, and he has the power to see things that others cannot.” De Sancerre cast a quick look around as if he thought de Guillevenen’s son might be watching him. “The day after we entered this forest, there was a storm and a strong wind nearly brought a tree down on top of us. Some of my men might have been killed if Benoît had not warned his father.”

“Then you have every reason to be grateful to Benoît, even if he is a sorcerer,” Loxley said.

“ _Grateful_?” De Sancerre laughed. “I see no reason to be grateful after what happened today! It was de Guillevenen who suggested this ambush, so Benoît must have known. Benoît advises him on everything. De Guillevenen makes no move without him. How do you think we found your camp or knew you would be riding through this part of the forest? Well, I doubt his father will listen to him now. Most of us have been killed because of Benoît.” De Sancerre kicked a stone angrily. “Keep the statue. I no longer care where you have hidden it.”

Loxley exchanged a look with Huntingdon, who nodded. Yes, now was the time for truth.

“I know you won’t believe us, but we really don’t have the statue,” Loxley said. “We never did.”

“But – ”

“We think that whoever bewitched Gisburne has it.”

“But if de Guillevenen already has the statue, why would he need to bewitch Gisburne?” de Sancerre asked. “For that matter, why has he insisted that we hunt you down?”

Loxley took a deep breath. “De Guillevenen may have the statue, but he doesn’t have Baphomet.”

De Sancerre shook his head impatiently. “I told you. Baphomet is just a symbol.”

“No, Baphomet is real,” Huntingdon said. “He broke free from the statue during the battle at the Preceptory of St. John. I saw Baphomet controlling de Guichard de Montbalm’s body. I thought Baphomet had been destroyed when de Montbalm died, but I was mistaken.”

“We were able to capture Baphomet and imprison him in a box using protective spells,” Loxley said. “I had this box the day we met at the Abbey of Mont Saint-Michel. It was in that pouch I was carrying, the one that shook as it lay on the ground.”

De Sancerre’s eyes widened for an instant and then he was shaking his head again. “It is ridiculous, absurd.”

Loxley regarded de Sancerre calmly. “We think de Guillevenen needs the box because he wants to return Baphomet to the statue.”

“And if he’s anything like de Montbalm, he’ll try to claim Baphomet’s power for himself,” Huntingdon said.

De Sancerre had started walking to his horse. “You are mad. Why else would you fabricate such an outrageous story and malign both de Montbalm and de Guillevenen? You said I would not believe you. Well, you were right, Robin Hood.”

“And, yet, I see fear in your eyes,” Loxley said.

De Sancerre froze, one foot in the stirrup. “Do not test me, Robin Hood. Even with one arm, I would kill you.”

“We’re trying to help you, de Sancerre,” Huntingdon said.

Seated in the saddle, de Sancerre gazed down at Huntingdon in contempt. “I would worry less about me and more about you. Gisburne is regaining consciousness.”

As de Sancerre rode away, Loxley and Huntingdon turned to Gisburne and saw that he had begun to stir. Not sure what to expect, they stood over Gisburne, swords drawn.

Gisburne groaned and slowly opened his eyes. “What...?” He tried to move his arms, only to find them bound behind his back. He began to struggle furiously. “Release me! Untie me, you idiots!”

Loxley crouched down beside Gisburne, studying his eyes. They were no longer glazed and vacant. Far from it. Now they were wide and panicked. Loxley quickly unfastened the belt from Gisburne’s wrists and tossed it to Huntingdon. As soon as he was free, Gisburne scooted a good two or three feet away from them.

“I’m sorry,” Loxley said. “We weren’t sure what you might do, so we had to – ”

“Is this blood?” Gisburne was looking down at his hands. “Why am I covered in blood? What’s happened?” He raised his head, regarding his surroundings in confusion. “Where did all these bodies come from? Were we attacked again?” Gisburne leapt to his feet, sword in hand. “This isn’t the camp. Where are we?”

Loxley also rose from the ground. “Guy – ”

“Tell me what happened.”

Loxley bowed his head, knowing that there was no explanation that would justify their behaviour. Huntingdon seemed to have reached the same conclusion as he simply blurted out the truth.

“You were bewitched.”

“ _Bewitched_?” Gisburne stared at Huntingdon, completely bewildered. “Why would anyone bewitch me?”

Loxley sighed. “We think de Guillevenen wants you to retrieve Baphomet for him.”

Gisburne turned to Loxley in surprise. “De Guillevenen’s a sorcerer?”

Loxley grimaced. “No, but his son is.”

Gisburne frowned. “You mean that boy? He spoke to me after de Sancerre attacked the camp. I thought he was speaking in Breton because I couldn’t understand the words. I wondered why he didn’t speak French when he should have known the language.”

“Do you think it could have been a spell he was casting?” Huntingdon asked. He was addressing Loxley but looking at Gisburne.

“It seems likely,” Loxley said. “Benoît may have also used mommets and a witch’s ladder.”

Gisburne glared at Loxley. “I don’t care how he did it. I just want this spell – or whatever it is – to be broken.”

“We’ll find de Guillevenen’s son and make him break the spell,” Loxley said.

Gisburne was eyeing Loxley suspiciously. “Was I also bewitched that night when my horse bit me and you claimed I was sleepwalking?”

“Yes, you were.”

“Did you know that at the time?”

Loxley nodded, not quite meeting Gisburne’s eyes. “Yes, we knew.”

Gisburne’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We thought that if we could see where you went when you were bewitched, we could discover who was bewitching you,” Huntingdon said. “We assumed that whoever had the statue must be behind it.”

Gisburne’s face darkened. “So you just left me like that? You let me ride off when I was out of my senses and-and fight against de Sancerre’s men?” Gisburne gazed down at the bodies again. “What was it? An ambush?”

Huntingdon looked away, though he was unable to hide a guilty expression. “We think you may have been led here by Benoît. You stopped and waited as if you were expecting an attack.”

Gisburne’s eyes blazed. “I could have been killed! Did that matter to either of you or was I expendable because you’d found your sorcerer?”

“This is my fault,” Huntingdon said. “Loxley didn’t want to go along with any of it.”

“But he did.” Gisburne turned to Loxley. “I would expect this from him, but not from you. I thought...Well, it hardly matters now, does it?” Gisburne started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Loxley cried.

“To find my horse!”

“But-but you’re covered in blood!”

Gisburne eyed Loxley coldly. “I’m a soldier. I’m used to it.”

“Where will you go?” Huntingdon asked.

“To kill the boy,” Gisburne said. “That should break the spell.” He found Fury grazing on grass with some of the other horses. He tugged on the bridle and led his horse away. “All truces have ended. I never want to see you again.”

“Guy...” Loxley had begun to approach Gisburne, but Huntingdon placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

“Let his temper cool,” Huntingdon whispered. “There’s no point in trying to reason with him when he’s this angry.”

“Can you blame him?” Loxley watched helplessly as Gisburne rode away. “We can’t let him kill Benoît de Guillevenen.”

“We’ll follow him at a distance,” Huntingdon said. “If Gisburne does try to kill the boy, we’ll stop him. Of course, he has to be able to track him down first, and Gisburne isn’t good at finding his way around a forest.”

“He won’t have any trouble this time.” Loxley jerked his chin at the trampled grass at their feet. “With everyone who rode through here, a child could follow this trail.”

Huntingdon smiled in chagrin. “Yes, I see your point.”

They gathered their horses and rode in the direction Gisburne had headed. Loxley hoped it hadn’t been a mistake to listen to Huntingdon. He suspected that the knights had set up camp fairly close to the glade, so there was every possibility that Gisburne might reach Benoît de Guillevenen before they did if they weren’t careful. He wished that he’d been able to prevent Gisburne from going off on his own, but he could understand why Gisburne hadn’t been willing to remain in their company.

“Gisburne was right,” Loxley said. “We did act as if his life didn’t matter. I should have told him the truth from the beginning.” Loxley sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I really do have a responsibility towards him.”

Huntingdon’s eyes were distant, his face closed off. “No, I do understand. More than you’ll ever know.”

Loxley and Huntingdon came across Gisburne sooner than they’d expected. When they heard the babble of a river, they decided to water the horses, but it wasn’t until they’d reached the bank that they saw Gisburne upstream, bathing waist deep in water. Fury stood by the river’s edge, his head bent to the water. Gisburne’s head swivelled sharply towards them when he sensed their presence, and his expression conveyed both vexation and alarm.

“I’m glad you decided to wash the blood off,” Loxley said.

Gisburne turned his back to them and splashed water on his face and chest. He was moving stiffly as if his arms ached. Then Loxley realized that they probably did after the way he’d fought all those men. It was almost a shame that Gisburne couldn’t remember any of it.

Loxley and Huntingdon knelt by the river to fill their waterskins, while Gisburne continued to ignore them. As they sat back on the bank, Loxley could see that Huntingdon was just as unsure as he was. Neither one of them knew how to proceed. Then Huntingdon finally spoke.  
“I think we need to renegotiate the terms of our truce,” he said.

Gisburne tried to glance over his shoulder at Huntingdon and winced. “I want nothing to do with either of you. If you’re here to stop me then let’s get on with it. Either step in the river or allow me to dress.”

“I don’t want to fight you. I want to apologize for my actions and ask for your help.”

Gisburne laughed. “You aren’t here to apologize, and you certainly don’t want my help. You’re here to stop me from killing de Guillevenen’s brat.” Gisburne turned to face them, his eyes falling on Loxley. “And what do you want?”

“I want to know if you’re all right,” Loxley said.

Gisburne stared at Loxley for a moment, taken aback. Then he began splashing more water over himself. “Why shouldn’t I be all right? I’ve only been enslaved by a sorcerer and forced to do his bidding. I assume he’ll kill me when it’s over – if Baphomet doesn’t get to me first.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice said.

Gisburne grabbed his sword from the bank, while Loxley and Huntingdon turned in surprise. Benoît de Guillevenen was standing among some reeds on the other side of the river.

Benoît de Guillevenen began murmuring some incantation that Loxley couldn’t quite make out. This hadn’t deterred Gisburne, who was wading through the water towards him. Loxley wasn’t sure if Gisburne had forgotten that he was naked or if he just didn’t care. Both Loxley and Huntingdon plunged into the river to prevent Gisburne from reaching Benoît, but Gisburne stopped of his own accord when Benoît finished the incantation and stood with tears running down his cheeks. Then Benoît unfastened his cloak and let it fall among the reeds.

Gisburne gaped at Benoît. “You’re a girl.”

“Yes, a witch instead of a warlock,” the girl said. “A Berthille instead of a Benoît.”

Loxley now knew why the girl had seemed so familiar, and it wasn’t just because of her eyes. “You’re the girl we saw that night at the manor. You’re de Guillevenen’s daughter.”

Berthille de Guillevenen reached up to touch her shorn hair. “My father made me disguise myself as a boy. He knew there would be enough opposition from the order if he introduced a boy who was not even a recruit. A daughter would have been impossible.” Berthille lowered her hand and looked at Gisburne. “My hold over you has ended. I won’t ask for your forgiveness, only that you allow me to explain why I acted as I did.” She eyed the sword in Gisburne’s hand. “If you wish to kill me after I have told you my story, I will make no move to stop you, though I must ask a favour of you if do decide to kill me.”

“A favour?” Gisburne cried. “You’re a witch! Why would I grant you a favour or even _trust_ you for that matter?”

Berthille laughed, though it sounded more like a sob. “I don’t know. Perhaps because we have a common enemy: my father.”

“I think you’d better tell us your story,” Loxley said.

Berthille smiled gratefully through her tears. “I don’t have much time. I slipped out of the camp when the knights rode off to ambush you.”

“Do you have the gift of sight, Berthille?” Huntingdon asked. “Is that how you were able to find us?”

Berthille’s cheeks flushed. “It is a gift – a curse – that I inherited from my grandmother, my father’s mother. For as long as I can remember, I have been able to see things that others cannot. I knew I would find you here because I saw it in a waking dream.”

“A vision,” Loxley said.

“Yes, you could call it that. When my father discovered that I could see things the same way my grandmother did, he encouraged me to learn all I could of sorcery.”

Gisburne’s lip curled in disdain. “You mean he made you become a witch.”

Berthille turned her face towards Gisburne, so that the bruise on her left cheek was visible. It was almost as dark as her thick brown hair. “He can be very persuasive, though this is not the reason why I obeyed him this time. He took my mother prisoner and swore that he would kill her if I didn’t do his bidding. This is why I said that I would need to ask a favour of you. If you kill me, my father will kill my mother, unless she can be rescued first.”

Loxley felt rage rising within him. He had assumed that de Guillevenen was an ambitious man, but this level of cruelty was excessive for even a Knight of the Apocalypse. Judging by the look on Huntingdon’s face, he felt the same and even Gisburne seemed stunned.

“We will do what we can to help both you and your mother,” Loxley said. “Do you know where your mother is being held?”

“At the preceptory in Rouen. I think my father must be holding her in one of the outbuildings as no women are allowed to set foot inside of the preceptory. He has only to send word to his servant, Remont, and my mother will be killed.” Berthille swallowed, struggling to withhold fresh tears. “This is why I must not tarry. Even now, he may have noticed my absence.”

“We’ll try not to keep you any longer than we have to, Berthille, but we need to know what your father is planning,” Huntingdon said.

Berthille rubbed absently at the bruise on her cheek. “He wants to restore the demon Baphomet to the statue, the statue that Guillemme de Sancerre claims you stole from the preceptory in England. My father knows that you’ve hidden Baphomet from the knights. He insisted that I use the sight to learn where you had hidden the demon, but I always failed, no matter how many times I tried. There are spells – powerful spells – that have prevented me from learning the truth. All I’ve ever been able to see is a white horse and a ruined stable.”

Loxley saw Gisburne tense, but his expression remained impassive. Huntingdon, on the other hand, was standing there looking puzzled.

“How long has your father had the statue?” Huntingdon asked.

Berthille bit her lip. “I’m not sure. Several months? I think some men brought it from England.”

Loxley was starting to understand Huntingdon’s confusion. “Did your father have the statue when Gisburne and I dined with him at the manor?”

“Yes, he had it then,” Berthille said. “It’s the reason why my mother and I fled that same night.”

Loxley smiled to himself. “We thought you left the hall because we’d been working in your father’s stables.”

“No, I just wanted it to look that way, so that my father would not suspect the real reason why we left,” Berthille said. “Fortunately, he hadn’t discovered then that you and Sir Guy knew where to find Baphomet. He thought that you were merely men who de Sancerre had unjustly accused of stealing the statue. It amused him to snub de Sancerre by playing host to you.” Berthille frowned, playing with the cuff of one of her sleeves. “I wish I had never told him about my one waking dream, the vision I had of you in that inn in Plöermel. It was before I knew of your connection to Baphomet.”

Gisburne’s eyes widened. “Is that how that hostler knew how to find us?”

“My father paid Denic to approach you. Denic couldn’t believe his luck when he overheard you telling the innkeeper that you were searching for work.” Berthille blushed, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry.”

Loxley touched Gisburne’s arm. “She could have told her father everything. She protected us as best she could. Do you think we could have escaped so easily that night if de Guillevenen had known the truth about us?” Loxley turned his gaze back to Berthille. “How did your father learn the truth?”

“He was suspicious when my mother and I disappeared,” Berthille said. “He was even more suspicious that we would plan our escape the same night that he was entertaining you and Sir Guy. He must have realized then that I had concealed something important from him and that it concerned the two of you.” Berthille gazed down at the hands that she had clasped nervously in front of her. “He found us in Saint-Émilion over a month ago. He threatened to kill my mother if I didn’t tell him everything. When I failed to see where you had hidden Baphomet, he made me use the sight to find you.”

“And the spell?” Gisburne asked.

Berthille could barely meet Gisburne’s eyes. “Spells. I had to cast more than one. My father thought that by bewitching you, I could force you to bring the demon to him.”

Gisburne glared at Berthille. “Why me? Why not Loxley?”

“It was my father’s choice,” Berthille said. “Perhaps he believed that I would be able to control you more easily because you’re a soldier and accustomed to following orders.”

“What about the ambush?” Huntingdon asked. “Gisburne could have been killed and your father’s plan would have been for nothing.”

Berthille shook her head, looking miserable. “My father knew that Sir Guy wouldn’t die. He told me to cast a spell that would compel Sir Guy to bring him Baphomet, no matter what obstacle lay in his path. Nothing else in the world should matter to him more than this task.”

“Which was why there was no fear or hesitation when he fought all those knight and why he was able to kill them all so easily,” Huntingdon said.

Gisburne’s jaw dropped. _“What?”_

“The only trouble is that I had to keep recasting the spell because the connection between us would be broken,” Berthille said.

Loxley glanced at Gisburne. “His horse bit him the first time you tried to bewitch him.”

“And I knocked him out the second time – after the ambush,” Huntingdon said.

“Why _did_ your father decide to ambush us?” Loxley asked. “Surely, there were easier ways to get rid of us. He knew Gisburne would likely kill us if we tried to stop him.”

“Oh!” A look of comprehension was dawning on Huntingdon’s face. “The ambush wasn’t for us. Your father wanted to dispose of the other knights because he thought they might stand in his way. The ambush saved him from having to get his own hands dirty.”

“Or answer any awkward questions afterwards,” Loxley said.

“The man’s completely mad,” Gisburne muttered. “I’m beginning to think you all are.” He turned and began trudging back to the other side of the river. Loxley reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Stay.”

“Why?” Gisburne asked. “I got what I came for. If this girl is telling the truth, I’m no longer bewitched.”

“But you’re still in danger,” Loxley said. “We all are.”

“From whom? De Guillevenen? Most of the knights are dead now. You said so. Have the witch lead you back to their camp and then kill him. After that, the three of you can go to Rouen to rescue the witch’s mother.”

“No!” Berthille cried. She pushed through the reeds, stepping closer to the river’s edge. “If my father dies or I try to make any move against him, my mother will be killed. My father told me that if he fails to send word to the preceptory in time, my mother will die.”

Gisburne threw up his hands, splashing water on himself and Loxley. “What is she supposed to do? It seems as if the only way her mother will live is if we deliver Baphomet to de Guillevenen.”

Loxley stared at Gisburne for a moment and then slowly turned to Huntingdon. “We could trick him.”

“Yes,” Huntingdon said. “If he thinks Gisburne is still bewitched...”

“Do you think it would work?”

“We would just need to find another box to replace the one Herne gave you. Berthille, what had your father planned to do after the ambush?”

“Return to the preceptory in Rouen, I should think,” Berthille said. “He had the statue sent there, though he’s kept it hidden from the other knights.”

Loxley smiled at Huntingdon. “If the statue’s at the preceptory, that’s where de Guillevenen will be heading.”

“De Guillevenen will allow Gisburne into the preceptory if he appears with the box,” Huntingdon said.

Gisburne scowled. “And what am I supposed to do when de Guillevenen discovers that I haven’t delivered Baphomet?”

“We’ll think of something,” Loxley said. “We’ll also come up with a plan to rescue Berthille’s mother.”

Berthille’s face lit up. “You’ll help me, then?”

“Yes, but we’ll need your help in return. You’ll have to pretend that Gisburne is still bewitched and carrying out his task. Your father must think that everything is still proceeding as planned.”

Berthille nodded eagerly. “I can do that, but how will you and your friends get inside the preceptory?”

“You leave that to us,” Loxley said.

Gisburne was sitting on the bank gazing gloomily at the river. However, he hadn’t left, so Loxley believed there was still hope. Gisburne had dressed once Berthille had left, and Loxley had recognized the tunic Anceline had insisted on giving Gisburne when she felt that his clothes were becoming too threadbare. Loxley didn’t know what had become of the blood-stained tunic that Gisburne had been wearing earlier. Perhaps he had tossed it in some bushes or had sent it floating down the river.

After removing his boots to let them dry, Huntingdon had stretched out on the river bank as though he hadn’t a care in the world, so Loxley decided to do likewise, lying down on the grass and folding his arms behind his head. He looked up at the azure sky, watching some puffy white clouds sail past. He hadn’t realized that he’d fallen asleep until he felt Huntingdon’s elbow in his side and found a dark figure blotting out the sky. Loxley blinked a few times and the shadowy figure transformed into Gisburne. Loxley sat up and peered at Gisburne, holding up a hand to block out the sun.

“I’ll stay with you until you’ve settled things with de Guillevenen, but then we part company,” Gisburne said.

Loxley smiled. “As you wish, Guy.”

Gisburne snorted. “None of this is as I would wish.” He sat down on the grass beside them. “There are some conditions.”

“Name them,” Huntingdon said.

“No more lies. If you wish to involve me in this plan, you’ll keep nothing from me.”

Loxley gave a quick nod. “No more lies.”

“And I won’t do any of the cooking, Loxley,” Gisburne said. “You said I can’t cook anyway, so that shouldn’t be a hardship for you.”

Loxley’s eyebrows rose. “I never said you couldn’t cook. I just didn’t understand how anyone could burn stew.”

“Well, I’m not the one who set fire to my blanket.”

“No, _you_ set fire to my blanket when you left it to dry too close to the fire after we got caught in that downpour.”

Gisburne glared at Loxley. “At least I’m able to catch the occasional fish, unlike you.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing considering that you’ve never managed to shoot down a deer or any other animal.”

Huntingdon cleared his throat, looking like he was desperately trying not to laugh. Loxley blushed. He’d nearly forgotten that Huntingdon was there.

Trying to ignore Huntingdon, Loxley said, “Fine. We accept your terms. Is there anything else?”

Gisburne started rising from the ground. “Yes. I need to get away from you before I strangle you both.”

Loxley rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t go far. We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Why don’t you just hoot like an owl or bellow like a bull, and I’ll come running back,” Gisburne said. Then he turned abruptly on his heel and stormed off.

Huntingdon was no longer amused. “He looks like he’s already planning to leave us.”

Loxley flopped back down on the bank. “Oh, he’ll be back. He would never leave without his horse.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Huntingdon said. Then his lips twitched. “You know, John has also burned stew before.”

Loxley smirked. “Well, I was hardly going to tell Gisburne that, was I?”

Over the next week, they travelled to Rouen. They left the Forest of Tronçais without any further encounters with the Knights of the Apocalypse and took the road from Bourges. They had made plans over a few campfires, with Gisburne providing all the information he could about the preceptory in Rouen and the knights’ habits. Huntingdon was also able to provide some information, and Loxley learned, to his great surprise, that Huntingdon had actually been initiated into the order when he had been held captive in the Preceptory of St. John. Gisburne had scowled when Huntingdon had spoken of it but had said nothing. Huntingdon, for his part, had been careful not to mention Gisburne or the subsequent battle. Loxley could sense that Huntingdon wasn’t merely sparing Gisburne’s feelings. It was a subject that he also found painful.

When the trio reached Rouen eight days later, they set up camp in some woods bordering the preceptory. Loxley and Gisburne climbed one large apple tree overlooking the preceptory’s many acres, while Huntingdon climbed another.

“You know the preceptory, Gisburne,” Loxley said. “Where do you think Berthille’s mother is being held?”

“I think Berthille could be right and de Guillevenen is holding her mother in one of the workshops. They’re south of the farmsteads.”

“Is that a gristmill? That building by the river, north of the farmsteads?”

Gisburne pushed aside some leaves and peered in the direction Loxley indicated. “Yes, it provides the preceptory with all its flour.”

“It’s further from the preceptory than the workshops, and fewer people are likely to go there,” Huntingdon said. “Besides his servant, Remont, de Guillevenen would only need to bribe the miller. It’s where I’d choose to hide her.”

Loxley gave a nod of satisfaction. “We’ll wait till nightfall and then pay the miller a visit.”

As the sun went down, they headed across the fields towards the mill. Gisburne had suggested they leave after sunset because the knights would be at Compline and not outdoors in either the courtyard or the training barracks. Loxley was glad that Gisburne had made some contribution to their plan. He’d been quiet the last week, and Loxley didn’t know if it was lingering resentment or if Gisburne was uncomfortable with Robert of Huntingdon’s presence. Loxley had hoped that some of the hostility between them might have eased, but Gisburne continued to be guarded around Huntingdon and regarded him with distrust.

“I think I see a light coming from the mill,” Huntingdon said.

Loxley squinted in the darkness. “Yes, I see it too. Perhaps the miller is bringing the prisoner her supper.”

“What makes you think that?” Gisburne asked.

“Because I can’t hear the millstones grinding the grain,” Loxley said.

As they approached the mill, Loxley’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll go in and see if Berthille’s mother is there. I know my way around a mill better than you two, so I’ll have a better chance of moving around more quietly in the dark. I’ll signal to you if she’s there.”

“All right,” Huntingdon said. “Call out if you need us.”

After entering the mill, Loxley gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. He could already make out the familiar outline of the spindle and the hopper, but he believed that if Berthille’s mother was imprisoned in the mill, she would be on the upper floor.

Finding the stairs, Loxley crept up to the next level. Standing at the top of the stairs, Loxley looked past the bin to a woman only visible by lantern light. She was sitting on the dusty wooden floorboards, wrists and ankles bound. The ropes around her wrists were loose enough to allow her to clumsily raise food to her mouth from the plate that had been set beside her. The woman’s eyes widened when she saw Loxley, but she clamped her mouth shut when Loxley lifted a finger to his lips.

Unfortunately, Loxley had been so focused on the prisoner that he’d missed the man standing in the shadows. The man’s back had been turned, but he had seen the woman’s reaction and had spun around to find Loxley.

Pulling a knife from his belt, the man lunged at Loxley, and the woman screamed. Loxley grabbed the man’s wrist and managed to hold him at bay, but then the man broke free and attempted to stab him again. Loxley sidestepped the man and seized the arm holding the knife, pinning it behind the man’s back. Then Loxley heard Gisburne and Huntingdon pounding up the stairs. Gisburne took the knife from the man’s hand and threw it across the floor, while Huntingdon went over to Berthille’s mother to cut her free from her bonds. Loxley and Gisburne then forced the man to kneel on the ground and used some of the rope that Huntingdon tossed to them to bind the man’s hands behind his back. Loxley left Gisburne to guard their new prisoner and approached Huntingdon and the woman.

“Ma fille,” the woman said. “Berthille.”

Huntingdon was quick to reassure the woman that her daughter was safe, even though it had been a week since they had last seen her. “Elle va bien.”

“Quel est votre nom?” Loxley asked, thinking that they shouldn’t keep referring to the woman as ‘Berthille’s mother’.

“Aalis,” the woman whispered.

Huntingdon smiled at Aalis. “Bien. Nous sommes là pour vous sauver.” 1

The woman shook her head. “Mais Berthille. Tu dois la sauver.” 2

“Nous allons, Aalis,” 3 Huntingdon said.

Gisburne, who was still standing by the stairs with their prisoner, hissed out a warning. “Someone’s coming.” Gisburne threw a hand over the man’s mouth, while Loxley and Huntingdon tried to make out what Gisburne had heard. Yes, there were sounds coming from below as if someone was walking around the lower level.

“Éduin? Etes-vous là?”

Éduin, who Loxley assumed was the miller, tried to break free from Gisburne, despite the rope binding his wrists.

There were footfalls on the stairs and a voice called out again. “Éduin?”

Loxley drew his sword and crept towards the stairs. When Loxley saw a dark curly head emerge, he pounced, grasping the man’s tunic and hauling him the rest of the way up the stairs. Loxley shoved the man on the floor and pointed his sword at his chest.

“Qui êtes vous?” Loxley asked.

“Il est Remont, le serviteur de mon mari,” 4 Aalis said. Remont turned his head to glare at Aalis, and Loxley tapped him lightly with his sword.

“Votre maître, Bernard de Guillevenen, est-il arrivé? Est-il dans le précepte?” 5 Loxley placed some pressure behind his sword, and it began to dig into Remont’s chest.

* * *

1 _Good. We are here to save you._

2 _But Berthille. You have to save her._

3 _We will, Aalis._

4 _He is Remont, my husband's servant._

5 _Has your master, Bernard de Guillevenen, arrived? Is he in the preceptory?_

* * *

Remont’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Yes, he come yesterday.”

Loxley relaxed his grip on the sword. “You speak English.”

“Only little English.”

Loxley smiled. “I’m sure it will suffice. You and Éduin are now our prisoners. If you behave, we won’t kill you.”

“It would be better if we did kill them,” Gisburne said.

“If we leave them bound and gagged in the mill, I’m sure someone will come across them in the morning.” Loxley lifted his sword from Remont’s chest and went in search of more rope while Gisburne and Huntingdon guarded their prisoners.

“We don’t have much time,” Loxley said. “We need to be out of the preceptory before dawn.”

They had returned to their camp in the woods with Aalis, who was sitting by the fire eating some of the rabbit that Huntingdon had cooked for supper. Now, Loxley, Gisburne and Huntingdon stared down at the surcoats and armour that they had stripped from two of the knights who had been killed in the skirmish. They had returned to the glade after it occurred to them that such accoutrements could come in useful when they reached the preceptory. They had barely finished their grim task when de Sancerre had arrived with the surviving knights to collect the bodies. De Guillevenen had been noticeably absent, and Loxley hoped that his absence had nothing to do with Berthille.

“It’s a good thing these surcoats are black, otherwise everyone would be able to see the blood stains,” Gisburne said.

Huntingdon rolled his eyes as he picked up one of the hauberks. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. It’s not as if you have to wear one.”

“No, I only have to pretend to be your prisoner, which is much worse,” Gisburne grumbled.

Huntingdon glanced up from the hauberk. “You won’t be my prisoner. You’re just the madman I came across on my journey.”

“You can’t act as either a prisoner or a madman, though,” Loxley said. “You should act as if you’re barely aware of Robin. You only chose to accompany him because he agreed to take you to de Guillevenen.” Loxley reached out to help Huntingdon pull the hauberk down, but Gisburne was already handling the armour. Loxley wondered if Gisburne was actually trying to help or if had simply lost patience watching Huntingdon struggle.

“Would you help me with mine?” Loxley asked. He had just remembered that it had taken both Will and John to help him get in and out of Gisburne’s armour when he had worn it to gain entrance into Nottingham Castle.

Gisburne looked at Loxley in surprise. “If you wish.”

Loxley would be entering the preceptory with Gisburne and Huntingdon, but then he would be going off on his own. De Guillevenen knew his face and would instantly recognize him if he also accompanied Gisburne. They thought that Huntingdon should be safe as de Guillevenen would have only caught a quick glimpse of him during the skirmish. When they reached the preceptory gate, Loxley would claim to be a knight wishing to join the order and would most likely be sent to the training barracks. Once Huntingdon had taken Gisburne to de Guillevenen, he would seek Loxley there. If Berthille wasn’t with her father, they would find and rescue her before confronting de Guillevenen. Loxley believed that de Guillevenen would probably keep his daughter close, especially if he was waiting for Gisburne to deliver Baphomet to him. Loxley only hoped that Gisburne would be able to keep de Guillevenen distracted until they arrived.

When they had finished changing, Loxley knew they looked the part because Aalis quickly stood up, wide eyes darting around the camp as though searching for a means of escape. Surprisingly, Gisburne seemed to understand her fears.

“Ce ne sont pas des chevaliers de l'apocalypse. C'est un déguisement.”

“Tell her that we’re only dressed this way so that we can sneak into the preceptory to save her daughter,” Loxley said.

Gisburne did as Loxley asked, though Aalis still looked frightened. Nevertheless, she seemed to accept what Gisburne said. She walked over to Loxley and Huntingdon and inspected their disguises. Then she touched a lock of Huntingdon’s hair and shook her head.

Gisburne was smirking. “She thinks your hair should be shorter. She’s right. It should. No Knight of the Apocalypse would have hair that long.”

“They didn’t seem to mind the last time,” Huntingdon muttered.

“Are they likely to be suspicious if we keep our hair this long?” Loxley asked.

“I would certainly notice it if I were them,” Gisburne said.

Loxley sighed. “Then you’d better cut it, but you’ll have to be quick about it.”

Loxley stared up at the preceptory as they rode towards the gatehouse. It seemed to loom over everything, despite the darkness that had fallen. The round chapel with its domed roof was quite beautiful, though the thick grey walls of the two towers could just as easily have belonged to a castle.

“I’ve never made it beyond this point before,” Huntingdon whispered. “I was able to get inside the precinct when I obtained work as a labourer, but I didn’t dare get any closer.”

Gisburne glanced over at Huntingdon. “Just act as if you belong here and do whatever you’re told. I know that will be a challenge for you, but – ”

“Shh,” Loxley said. “We’re almost at the gate.” He found he had to resist the urge to touch the newly shorn hair that he was still trying to grow accustomed to.

There were two sergeants at the gate who seemed more curious than threatening as they took in the three men before them. Huntingdon spoke up first.

“Salutations. Je suis William de Warenne – ”

“I speak English,” the one sergeant said.

“Ah, good. As I was saying, I’m William de Warenne and – ”

“Who is that man who is not a knight? Your servant?”

Huntingdon shot a quick look at Gisburne then leaned a bit closer to the sergeant. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I ran across him on the journey to Rouen. I might have ridden past him altogether, but he stopped me and said he had to reach Bernard de Guillevenen. I had heard that name before, of course, and assumed that de Guillevenen might be here.”

“Did he say why he wished to see de Guillevenen?” the sergeant asked.

Huntingdon coughed, feigning nervousness. “Well, that’s just it. I couldn’t get anything else out of him. He hasn’t said another word.”

“I am surprised that you would accompany him here,” the sergeant said.

Huntingdon looked around again and lowered his voice even more. “I think he might be carrying something valuable. When I moved too close to his saddlebag, I found a sword at my throat.”

“Really?” The sergeant regarded Gisburne with renewed interest.

“I think he might be a knight,” Huntingdon said. “He has a knight’s bearing.”

The sergeant’s eyes returned to Huntingdon. “William de Warenne, you said? And where have you travelled from?”

“Marqab.”

The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t look as if you have come from Marqab. Your skin is too pale.”

“I was ill for several weeks. I was sent to France to recuperate.”

“I would have thought they would send you back to England.” The sergeant jerked his chin at Loxley. “Is this man from Marqab too?”

“No, I’m also from England,” Loxley said. “I met my Lord de Warenne by chance at an inn in Rouen. I was trying to work up the courage to come here. I-I wish to be a recruit.”

“Name?” the sergeant asked.

“Matthew of Edwinstowe.”

“Hmm.” The sergeant turned to his comrade and asked him to fetch a man named Herault. “Herault will accompany you to the training barracks. It will be up to Levasseur to decide what will become of you. It’s not enough to be young and able as de Warenne has likely told you.”

Huntingdon patted Loxley on the back. “I would never have brought Matthew here if I hadn’t believed that he would be an asset to the order.”

The sergeant nodded gruffly. “Yes, yes.” He sounded as if he’d heard it all before. “You had better come in and have the groom saddle your horses. You are too late for supper, but Herault might be able to fetch you something from the kitchens.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself,” Huntingdon said. “We show our devotion to God by fasting.”

The sergeant was eyeing Gisburne again. “What about your friend? Is he hungry?”

Huntingdon shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

The sergeant shook his head sadly. “Poor man. He must have lost his reason. I hope my Lord de Guillevenen can help him.”

In the training barracks, Loxley found himself sitting at a table across from a man with thinning grey hair and a long pallid face. Loxley had known he was facing Levasseur before he’d even received an introduction. The man matched Gisburne’s description perfectly. Levasseur had also said what Gisburne had predicted he would say. He asked Loxley about his experience in battle and his faith in God. Gisburne had instructed Loxley how to answer both questions. Gisburne had also gone through the code of conduct with him, listing so many rules that Loxley had been convinced that he must be making some of them up.

“I thought we were dealing with the Knights of the Apocalypse, not the Templars!” Loxley had cried.

Gisburne had either missed the gibe or had ignored it altogether because he had said, “Oh, the Knights of the Apocalypse don’t have nearly as many rules as the Templars do.”

Levasseur hadn’t even recited half the rules when Huntingdon entered the room. He looked pointedly at Loxley before smiling politely at Levasseur.

“Pardonnez-moi, mais je dois – ”

Levasseur nodded his head wearily and waved his hand. “Oui, d'accord. Aller.”

“Did you find de Guillevenen?” Loxley asked as they left the training barracks.

“Yes, he met us in the crypt,” Huntingdon said.

Loxley stopped walking and gazed sharply at Huntingdon. “The crypt? Why would he...? Oh, he must have hidden the statue down there.”

“I think I saw it. It was covered up, but I’m sure it must be the statue based on its size.”

“What did de Guillevenen say to you when you saw him?”

“Hardly anything. He thanked me for finding Gisburne and said I should speak to Herault about providing me with accommodation.” Huntingdon’s brow creased. “He was so focused on Gisburne that he barely noticed me.”

“Was Berthille there?” Loxley asked.

“Yes, there’s a fresh bruise on her cheek, but de Guillevenen doesn’t appear to have hurt her in any other way. I gave her the signal we agreed upon, so she knows her mother is safe.”

“Let’s hope that knowledge gives her the courage she needs to go through with this.”

They moved through the preceptory as quickly and silently as they could. They ran into two knights as they headed for the chapel, but Huntingdon greeted them in Latin. Both knights returned the greeting and continued on their way.

“You really were initiated into the order,” Loxley said.

Huntingdon grimaced. “Yes, unfortunately.”

There were some other knights in the chapel, but they didn’t even lift their heads from their prayers as Loxley and Huntingdon went past them on their way to the crypt. Their footfalls seemed to echo on the stairs, and Loxley was afraid that de Guillevenen might hear them. However, when they reached the bottom of the stairs leading into the crypt, they knew de Guillevenen hadn’t heard anything. He was having a discussion with Berthille as if nothing was amiss.

“I’ll hear no more excuses. You’ve painted the sigil on the floor and broken the wards protecting the box. Now I mean to remove the seal.”

“If you open the box too soon, Baphomet will escape, and you’ll have no means of controlling him. I need more time, Father.”

“Oh, very well, but don’t take too long. This has to be completed tonight.”

Loxley and Huntingdon tiptoed to a large column that would allow them to look inside the crypt without being noticed. However, they couldn’t see much. Loxley could just make out de Guillevenen and Berthille by the light of some candles.

Berthille seemed to be conjuring a spell. Light glinted off of the object she was holding in her hands, and Loxley knew that it had to be the small metal box they had purchased in the market in Orléans. At the same market, they had purchased thread and a candle in an attempt to make the box look authentic. The red thread had been tied around the box several times, while they had used the wax from the candle to replicate the seal that Herne had used the first time. They hadn’t attempted to etch any symbols into the metal. They weren’t sure how much de Guillevenen knew about sorcery and feared that he might recognize that the symbols weren’t genuine. Fortunately, the box appeared to have fooled de Guillevenen.

Loxley felt a tug on his sleeve and glanced at Huntingdon. Then his eyes were following the direction of Huntingdon’s finger. It was a strain, but Loxley could just see the other man in de Guillevenen’s party. Then he realized that this man was Gisburne and that he wasn’t there of his own volition. He had been chained to the wall.

Loxley had known that de Guillevenen might take Gisburne prisoner. He just hadn’t expected him to chain Gisburne to a wall. As soon as de Guillevenen discovered that he’d been tricked, he might direct his fury at Gisburne, who would be in no position to defend himself. Loxley knew he couldn’t remain hidden any longer.

“I’ll go,” Loxley whispered. “You’d give the game away.”

Huntingdon didn’t look happy. “What difference does it make? He’s about to learn that he’s been deceived anyway.”

“Let’s keep him in the dark a little longer. I might be able to get Berthille out of here safely and convince de Guillevenen to release Gisburne.”

“All right,” Huntingdon said. “I’ll wait here until I’m needed.”

Loxley patted Huntingdon on the back and then stepped out from behind the column. De Guillevenen didn’t notice him at first as he was too busy watching his daughter. Loxley flashed a smile at Gisburne, who simply rolled his eyes. Loxley was only about ten feet from de Guillevenen when de Guillevenen finally heard him and spun around.

“I hate to interrupt you, but you have something that doesn’t belong to you,” Loxley said.

De Guillevenen’s eyes went to the box in Berthille’s hands. “It hardly belongs to you either.”

Loxley looked at Gisburne. “I wasn’t talking about the box.”

“Oh, I see!” de Guillevenen said. “Well, I’m afraid you can’t have Gisburne back. There’s a very important role he has to play. I need him as a vessel.”

“A vessel?” Loxley glanced at the large covered object that had been pushed to one corner of the crypt. “But I thought you had a vessel.”

“I’ll admit that my original plan was to use the statue,” de Guillevenen said. “Then I thought, why limit yourself to a lifeless idol when you can have a living breathing figurehead to control?”

Loxley eyed de Guillevenen incredulously. “Do you really think you can control Baphomet? I know what happened when Baphomet took possession of your Grandmaster’s body. _No one_ could control him.”

De Guillevenen laughed. “De Montbalm was a fool. He wanted Baphomet’s power for himself.”

“And you don’t?” Loxley asked.

“No, I only wish to serve him.”

Loxley gazed down at the sigil that de Guillevenen intended to use to summon the demon from the box. “I’m not sure if Baphomet will see it that way.”

De Guillevenen scowled and glanced at his daughter. “Berthille, summon Baphomet.”

Berthille gazed helplessly at Loxley, who gave a tight nod.

“Did you hear me, girl? Cast the spell.”

“I can’t, Father,” Berthille said. “The box is empty.”

_“What?”_ De Guillevenen wrenched the box from Berthille’s hands, and Loxley wondered if he would tear off the seal with his fingers.

“Do you think I would have delivered Gisburne to you if he really possessed the box containing Baphomet?” Huntingdon had emerged from behind the column, causing de Guillevenen’s head to snap up.

“And do you really think I would allow him to deliver me _anywhere_?” Gisburne asked.

De Guillevenen stared at Gisburne in astonishment and then he turned to Berthille. “But you bewitched him. He should still be under your power.”

Loxley pulled his sword from its scabbard and moved closer to Berthille.

“The day you disappeared from the camp. You weren’t looking for me. You sought them out instead.”

Berthille raised her chin, though her voice trembled. “Yes, Father.”

Loxley now placed himself in front of Berthille, expecting de Guillevenen to lose his temper, but de Guillevenen only smiled, setting the box down on a table.

“It hardly matters. You’ve served your purpose.” De Guillevenen shut his eyes and started speaking in what sounded like Latin.

“Father, what are you doing?” Berthille asked. She sounded nervous and looked frightened.

“Summoning Baphomet, of course. I’ve managed to learn one or two spells myself over the years. Baphomet may not be inside the box, but that doesn’t mean I can’t summon him.”

“It won’t work,” Loxley said. “You can’t release him. The real box is protected.”

“Oh, no,” Berthille whispered. “I should have realized...”

“Realized what?” Loxley asked. “Berthille, you didn’t use actual enchantment, did you?”

Berthille bit her lip. “I was afraid my father would know if I didn’t, and I thought the real box was too far away for the magic to work. I...I didn’t think it could do any harm...”

De Guillevenen had raised his arms and was reciting the spell again. Berthille watched him, horrified.

“But I didn’t draw a circle! There will be no means of containing Baphomet without one!”

De Guillevenen lowered his arms, the spell dying on his lips. There was a quiet chuckle that started off low and then grew into deep, resounding laughter. It was a noise that seemed to fill the entire crypt. Loxley felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising and it was with a feeling of dread that he forced himself to look at Gisburne. As in his nightmare, Gisburne’s eyes glowed amber and his face was covered in iridescent scales.

Baphomet was looking directly at Loxley, smiling in a manner that was completely out of character for Gisburne. “Did you really believe that tiny little box could hold me?” The voice was Gisburne’s and, yet, it wasn’t. It was deeper and almost came out as a growl.

“I think Herne’s box was more than enough to hold you,” Loxley said. “You’d still be trapped if the spells protecting the box hadn’t been broken.”

Baphomet sneered and that expression _was_ familiar. “A little girl playing with sorcery, but it wasn’t she who summoned me.” Baphomet’s head swivelled around to de Guillevenen. “Bernard de Guillevenen. You claim you wish to serve me. Release me from these chains.”

De Guillevenen stood rooted to the spot, face white, seemingly terrified.

“Bernard, I am your master. Do as I command.”

De Guillevenen gave a jerky nod and made to move, but Huntingdon grasped his shoulder.

“Why does the mighty Baphomet require anyone’s assistance?” Huntingdon asked. “I would have thought that escaping from those chains would be a simple feat for you. You threw me across the chapel in the Preceptory of St. John with barely any effort at all.” Huntingdon moved closer to Baphomet, standing directly in front of him. “What? No fire? You’re not nearly as impressive as you were the last time I saw you.”

Baphomet’s face contorted in rage. “I should kill you where you stand, Wolfshead.”

Huntingdon crossed his arms, staring the demon down. “I don’t think you can. If you could, I’d be dead already. I think your journey here has drained you of your strength.”

Baphomet yanked against the chains, trying to lunge at Huntingdon, his cry an inhuman snarl.

“Que se passe-t-il ici? De Guillevenen, tu es là?” 1 De Sancerre had come down the stairs from the chapel and was striding towards them. “Hérault a dit que Gisburne était là. Est-ce vrai? L'avez-vous?” 2 His steps faltered when he took in Gisburne with his glowing eyes and iridescent scales. “Mon Dieu...Comment se peut-il?” 3 He quickly crossed himself.

* * *

1 _What is happening here? De Guillevenen, are you there?_

2 _Hérault said Gisburne was here. Is it true?_

3 _My God ... how can it be?_

* * *

“We tried to warn you,” Huntingdon said. “De Guillevenen has summoned Baphomet and now Gisburne is possessed.”

Loxley moved over to the statue, whipping off the sheet that had been covering it. “And here is your stolen statue. De Guillevenen had it all along.”

De Sancerre’s fury was nearly a match for Baphomet’s. He grabbed de Guillevenen by the front of his tunic. “Is this true? Did you do all this? You’re a disgrace to the order!”

Baphomet started laughing. “A disgrace to the order? The order is already a disgrace! What are you? A group of degenerate knights who created their own order because they were unable to become Templars. You’re all such idiots that you think the statue is the prize. De Guillevenen may be a fool, but at least he recognizes where the true power lies.”

“What was your plan? To have that thing rule over us?” De Sancerre seized de Guillevenen by the shoulders and shook him. “Answer me, you bastard! Was that your plan? Did you mean to kill us all?”

De Guillevenen wrenched himself free of de Sancerre and ran his hands over his rumpled tunic. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You have no vision, de Sancerre, no imagination. You want this order to remain in the past when I have plans for the future. The Knights of the Apocalypse can be a great order again, even greater than the Knights Templar.”

“But why limit yourself to the Knights of the Apocalypse?” Baphomet said. “With me at your side, you could rule over everything.” Baphomet strained once more against the chains. “Release me and I’ll make you the most powerful man who ever lived, de Guillevenen.”

“No, don’t listen to him, Father!” Berthille cried. “He’d kill you sooner than share his power!”

“Silent, wench!” Baphomet roared.

Loxley leaned down to whisper in Berthille’s ear. “You have to get Baphomet inside the box.”

“I...I don’t know if I can.”

“You have to try. It’s the only way we can defeat him.”

“All right, I’ll try.” Berthille rushed over to the same table the box was on and opened a thick leather-bound book.

Baphomet’s head turned, fearful eyes falling on Berthille. “Release me, de Guillevenen. Release me now!”

De Sancerre had his sword out and was blocking de Guillevenen’s path. “I’ll run you through if you take even one step.”

Loxley glanced at Huntingdon, who was gazing up at Baphomet. Loxley thought he saw compassion in Huntingdon’s eyes before that emotion was replaced by a look of determination. It was as if Huntingdon had just made an important decision.

“I can release you, Baphomet, but not from those chains,” Huntingdon said. “Right now, you’re trapped in Guy of Gisburne’s body. Yes, he’s young and strong and a good soldier, but I’m younger and far more intelligent. I have powerful ties. My father was the Earl of Huntingdon and the King of Scotland is my uncle.”

Loxley grabbed Huntingdon’s arm and pulled him away from Baphomet. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I know what I’m doing,” Huntingdon said. “I’ve faced Baphomet before.”

“No, you’re being stupid and reckless!” Loxley shouted.

Huntingdon looked as if he wanted to hit Loxley, but then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You spoke of having a responsibility to Gisburne. Well, I also have a responsibility to him, only mine outweighs yours. I can’t expect you to understand, but I have to try to save him. It’s my duty, my-my right.”

Loxley’s eyes went to the demon with Gisburne’s face and then back to Huntingdon again. He released Huntingdon’s arm. “No, I think I do understand. I’m not sure how I didn’t see it before now.”

“Loxley – ”

“We’ll discuss it later.”

“How very touching,” Baphomet said. His voice was dripping with false sincerity and sarcasm. “It’s a pity you didn’t share your secret with your father before he died. It might have done some good then, though, knowing Gisburne as well as I do – and I know him _very_ well – I very much doubt it.”

“What secret does he speak of?” de Sancerre asked. He was still standing before de Guillevenen, guarding him with his sword.

Huntingdon didn’t even seem to hear de Sancerre. He was glaring at Baphomet, body tense, teeth clenched. “Are you going to accept my offer or not because no one is going to release you from those chains.”

“It’s tempting but I know better than to trust you, Wolfshead,” Baphomet said. Then his eyes were no longer glowing, and Gisburne slumped forward in the chains. In that brief instant, Loxley knew exactly where Baphomet would be heading.

Loxley called out a warning to de Sancerre. “He’ll go to de Guillevenen next!”

De Guillevenen’s eyes had begun to glow and his cheeks were covered with those same iridescent scales that had appeared on Gisburne’s face. Before de Guillevenen could even speak, de Sancerre ran him through with his sword. As de Guillevenen collapsed on the ground, Loxley cast a frantic look at Berthille. Her eyes were closed and she was murmuring something under her breath. Loxley wasn’t sure if she even knew her father was dead, she was so focused on her spell.

“Berthille...”

A dark, smoky mist was rising from de Guillevenen’s body. As it drifted towards Berthille, it twisted and coiled as if struggling against some unseen force. Loxley thought he saw horns and the head of a goat before the grey tendrils coalesced into the head of a man, jaws open, screaming in terror. Then the mist was being drawn into the box the same way a ship might be dragged into a maelstrom. There was an unearthly, disembodied scream and then the mist was gone.

Loxley went over to Berthille and wrapped an arm around her. She was staring wordlessly at her father, tears streaming down her cheeks. Loxley looked over at Huntingdon, who was holding up Gisburne while de Sancerre set about unlocking the chains.

“Gisburne, can you hear me?” Huntingdon asked. He was crouched before Gisburne and was shaking him by the shoulder.

Huntingdon and de Sancerre had lowered Gisburne to the ground and had propped him up against the wall. Gisburne was still breathing, but he had yet to regain consciousness. Huntingdon tapped Gisburne’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Guy, wake up. You’re free now. Berthille trapped Baphomet in the box.”

“Perhaps I should fetch a physician,” de Sancerre said.

Loxley looked down at Gisburne and shook his head. “I don’t think a physician can help him. He’ll wake up when he’s ready – _if_ he wakes up.”

De Sancerre nodded grimly. “You buried a box containing Baphomet once before. Would you be willing to do so again?”

Loxley stared at de Sancerre in surprise. “Well, yes, but I would have thought – ”

“I want that thing as far away from this preceptory as possible,” de Sancerre said. “What is more, I plan to destroy that monstrosity of a statue. I will remove the jewels and melt down all the gold. The money we collect can be used for more godly purposes.”

“Such as funding a campaign?” Loxley asked.

“I was thinking more of distributing it among the sick and the poor.”

Loxley smiled. “Then I’m glad we were finally able to return the statue to you.” He held out his hand and was glad when de Sancerre chose to accept it.

“You should stay here for the night. You can’t go anywhere while Gisburne is in that state and the girl...” De Sancerre glanced at Berthille who was sitting on the floor beside her father’s body.

“I thought women weren’t allowed in preceptories,” Loxley said.

“Well, usually they are not, but I think we can make an exception under the circumstances. She is disguised as a boy after all.”

Loxley was tempted to accept de Sancerre’s hospitality, but he had Aalis de Guillevenen to consider. “I appreciate your offer, but we’ve left de Guillevenen’s wife – widow – back at the camp.”

Berthille’s head shot up. “Oh, will you please take me to her?” She rose to her feet, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“I could fetch the girl’s mother and bring her here,” de Sancerre said.

Loxley could see that de Sancerre was sincere and he was grateful, but he also remembered Aalis’ reaction to their disguises back at the camp. She would probably be terrified of de Sancerre.

Huntingdon stood and went over to them. “I think it would be best if I escorted Berthille back to the camp and then stayed there with her and Aalis.”

“What about Gisburne?” Loxley asked.

“You can stay with him. When he wakes, he’ll want to see you rather than me. Stay here tonight. I’ll return in the morning.” Huntingdon clapped Loxley on the back. “Come on, Berthille, let’s reunite you with your mother.”

Loxley watched in frustration as Huntingdon walked past him with Berthille. “We still need to talk.”

“Loxley, I think he has started to regain consciousness,” de Sancerre said. He nodded at Gisburne, who had opened his eyes and was slowly taking in his surroundings. Then Gisburne jerked violently, jumping to his feet and gazing wildly around the crypt. Huntingdon and Berthille froze as if trying not to alarm Gisburne. Loxley approached Gisburne slowly, lifting his hands in a placating gesture.

“It’s all right, Guy. You’re safe now. Baphomet has been contained. He can’t hurt you.”

Gisburne slid to the ground, shaking. Loxley sat down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder as Gisburne thrust his face in his hands.

When Loxley stepped out of his chamber the next morning, he found Huntingdon outside in the corridor waiting for him. For a moment, Loxley wondered if he’d overslept, but then he remembered that he’d only just seen sunlight creeping across the floor from the window shutters.

“You’re here early,” Loxley said.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Loxley smiled ruefully. “Neither could I.”

Huntingdon glanced at the door. “How is he?”

“Well, thankfully, _he’s_ sleeping. I didn’t know if he would.”

“Will he be all right, do you think?” Huntingdon asked.

“He told me to stop coddling him and to leave him alone, so I think that’s a good sign.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Huntingdon was rubbing the back of his neck and not quite meeting Loxley’s eyes.

“We should go out into the courtyard,” Loxley said.

“Should we?”

Loxley took Huntingdon’s arm and started leading him down the corridor. “Yes, I think we should.”

They walked until they reached the enclosure that was used for training horses. Loxley leaned back against the railing, while Huntingdon stared into the empty paddock.

“What is Gisburne to you?” Loxley asked. “Your brother?”

“Half-brother,” Huntingdon murmured. “What gave it away? It couldn’t have just been what happened in the crypt.”

“No, it wasn’t just that. It was little things at first, things I barely noticed. You share certain gestures and you know how to needle each other the way brothers do.”

Huntingdon looked at Loxley in surprise.

“You forget that I have a brother too.”

“Of course,” Huntingdon said. “Much.”

“Then there was this look I’d see in your eyes. I saw it the first time when I spoke about Gisburne being my responsibility. It’s a look I’m seeing now.” Loxley turned so that he was also facing the paddock. “We may not be related by blood, but Much and I grew up together and were raised as brothers. I recognize the need to protect a brother because I’ve felt it myself. You didn’t have to try to save Gisburne, but you did it because, for you, there wasn’t any other choice. You may be enemies, and you may hate each other, but that really doesn’t change anything for you, does it?”

Huntingdon sighed, though it sounded more like a long exhalation. “We have – had – the same father. According to Tuck, my father and Guy’s mother married secretly when they believed that Edmond of Gisburne had died in the Holy Land.”

Loxley’s eyebrows rose. “ _Tuck_ told you?”

“We rescued Lady Gisburne from some Brabançons when she was travelling to Croxden Abbey. She knew she was dying, so she asked Tuck if he would hear her confession. She also told me the truth herself when she realized who I was.”

“But you never told Gisburne.”

Huntingdon heaved a genuine sigh this time. “I thought about it, but I could never bring myself to tell him. I didn’t even have the courage to tell our friends. You know what would happen if they discovered that Gisburne was my half-brother. Will would try to kill me on the spot.”

Loxley grimaced. “And then there’s Gisburne.”

“I can’t even imagine how he’d react. His worst enemy his half-brother? His worst enemy knowing his most closely guarded secret? Of course, it wouldn’t be long before he was trying to claim the earldom, but he wouldn’t be able to prove anything. His mother is dead and my father died before he could learn about his other son.”

Loxley frowned. “Don’t you think Gisburne deserves to know the truth?”

“I’m sure he does, but is telling him the right thing to do? What would it accomplish? How would it help him?”

“Well, he’d know who he is for one thing,” Loxley said.

“The half-brother of the most infamous outlaw in England? The bastard of an earl who didn’t even know he had another son?” Huntingdon shook his head. “That won’t bring him peace. It will only hurt him more.”

“So your answer is to do nothing?” Loxley was squeezing the top rail so hard it hurt.

Huntingdon laid a hand on Loxley’s arm. “I didn’t say that. I’ve had an idea as to how I can help him – help you both – but I’m going to need your help, Loxley.”

“Scotland?” Gisburne cried. “Why on earth would you want to go there?”

They had left the preceptory and returned to the camp to pack up their belongings. While Huntingdon would be travelling to Calais and then back to England, Loxley and Gisburne would be escorting Aalis and Berthille to Brittany. After that, Loxley and Gisburne would rebury Baphomet.

“Robin has offered to write to his uncle to see if positions can be found for us in his household,” Loxley said. “You’d be a steward again and I’d be a forester.”

Gisburne’s brow creased. “His uncle...? You mean the King of Scotland?”

Loxley gaped at Huntingdon. “I didn’t think you meant _that_ uncle!”

“I assumed you knew,” Huntingdon said. “How many uncles do you think I have?”

“That haven’t already died,” Gisburne muttered.

Huntingdon frowned. “I didn’t think it mattered at the time. We were still discussing details.”

“I would think that was a rather important detail!” Loxley said.

Huntingdon sighed. “I didn’t want to disappoint you if my uncle refused.”

“Is he even likely to read your letter?” Gisburne asked. “You are a notorious outlaw after all.”

“Oh, I think he’ll read my letter,” Huntingdon said. “He used to be something of a renegade himself.”

Gisburne snorted. “Of course, I should have remembered. He joined that revolt against King Henry.”

“I like him already,” Loxley said.

Gisburne glared at him. “It won’t work. We’re complete strangers. We’re nothing to him. Why should he wish to help us?”

“If you’re truly set against the idea, we won’t do it, but can it really hurt to try?” Loxley asked.

“How would word even reach us if his uncle does respond to the letter?” Gisburne grumbled.

“He can send word to you in Brittany.” Berthille had been sitting under the apple tree with her mother, pretending not to be listening to their conversation. “You can stay with us until you hear from either Robin or his uncle.”

“That’s very kind of you, Berthille,” Loxley said, “but we couldn’t ask that much of you.”

Berthille laughed. “That much? It seems like nothing compared to everything you’ve done for me. I only wish that I could offer you positions in our household, but we already have a steward and would have no use for a forester. However, I can welcome you as guests and friends.

“Thank you, Berthille. We’d be honoured and grateful.” Loxley glanced at Gisburne, who still seemed doubtful. “You might like it.”

Gisburne crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sure King William has a steward already – most likely two.”

“Then you can be a steward in another lord’s household,” Huntingdon said. “My uncle doesn’t lack connections.”

Gisburne dropped his arms and walked over to Huntingdon, standing only a few inches away from him. “Why are you doing this? I can understand why you wish to help Loxley, but why help me?”

“If de Sancerre changes his mind and decides that he wants Baphomet after all, he might track you down and force you to reveal where Baphomet has been buried. If I know you’re safe in Scotland, I don’t have to worry about whether Baphomet might be released again.”

Gisburne scowled. “Why don’t you just kill me? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“No one is killing anyone?” Loxley said.

“All right, do you want to know the real reason?” Huntingdon asked. “Loxley wouldn’t let me help him unless I also helped you. There. Are you satisfied?”

Loxley gave Huntingdon a sympathetic look before pulling Gisburne to one side. “Let him help you,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Because you need his help. We _both_ do.”

Gisburne looked back at Huntingdon, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“He’s a temporary ally, remember?” Loxley said.

Gisburne grimaced. “If this is what you think is best, I suppose I’ll go along with it. It doesn’t mean that I’ll accept any position that might be offered by the king, though.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to.” Loxley nodded at Huntingdon, who smiled tentatively in return.

“Offer him your hand,” Loxley said.

_“What?”_

“You don’t have to thank him, but you can do that much at least.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a gesture he’ll appreciate.”

“Why should it matter to him whether I shake his hand or not?”

“Please,” Loxley said.

Gisburne stared at Loxley, his eyes narrowed again, but he went over to Huntingdon all the same. Huntingdon seemed to brace himself as if he expected Gisburne to hit him, but then he looked genuinely happy when Gisburne extended his hand.

“Thank you, Wolfshead,” Gisburne said.

Huntingdon grasped Gisburne’s hand in both of his. “You’re welcome, Guy.”

Loxley had just returned from patrolling King’s Park and was surprised to see a familiar black horse outside the hut.

“Hello, Fury. It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

Fury turned his head towards Loxley, and Loxley stroked the sleek black neck before stepping inside the hut. Gisburne rose from the bench as soon as Loxley entered. Loxley hadn’t seen Gisburne in several weeks, and he was pleased to observe that Gisburne had put on more weight. Loxley gestured to Gisburne to sit back down and filled two cups with ale.

“I take it that Lord Lonchree is here for the hunt, and he insisted that you accompany him because he still believes that Kildalloch wishes to kill him,” Loxley said.

Gisburne shook his head. “Everyone but the baron knows that Killdalloch said those words in jest. I’ve done all I can to try to convince him, but he won’t believe me.”

“It means a day of hunting for you, so it can’t be too great a hardship. Why aren’t you still out there?”

“Lonchree fell off his horse and has taken to his bed,” Gisburne said.

“Will he be all right?”

“He only landed on his head, so I should think so.”

Loxley’s lips twitched. “Well, I welcome the visit whatever the circumstances,” he said, clinking his cup against Gisburne’s.

“What about you?” Gisburne asked. “Any poachers or cutthroats today?”

Loxley was careful to maintain a neutral expression. “None that I could discover.” Loxley had given the boy two pennies and a warning to never again return to King’s Park in daylight. He assumed that the boy had understood the hint. Loxley set down his cup and studied Gisburne. “Were we right to come here? I know Lonchree is a fool, but he’s not a cruel master, is he? You’re not unhappy in his service?”

“It’s not what I was expecting,” Gisburne said, “but I’m happy enough in his service.” One corner of his mouth was turned up slightly as if he was failing to contain a smirk.

Loxley sighed. “Who is she? One of Lonchree’s many nieces?”

“No, his ward.”

“Ah,” Loxley said. “I know how dangerous they can be.” He could still remember how beautiful Marion looked when he met her that first time in her chamber. “Don’t do anything stupid, Gisburne.”

“I haven’t done anything at all! She’s the one pursuing me!”

“Well, I suppose it makes a change from being pursued by the Knights of the Apocalypse.” Loxley poured some more ale into Gisburne’s cup. “Would you like to find the king’s party? I know a place where we could watch the hunt without being seen.

Gisburne took another sip of ale. “No, I think I’d rather stay here.”

Loxley smiled and raised his own cup to his lips. “Yes, so would I.”


End file.
